Tribulation
by misslucy21
Summary: I don't think I could have possibly hidden the way my breath caught in my throat and my eyes widened. I wanted to stand up, tell everyone I was sorry, but I couldn't do this. Couldn't tell them all that happened with his eyes on me.
1. Default Chapter

Insert Disclaimer Here

Again with the AU  
Order of Operations: "Beyond Misconceptions", "Nervous", "Invincible Summer", "Choices Revisited", "Winter Warriors", "Garden Thoughts", "In the Poppy Fields", "Tribulations"

Thanks again to all my reviewers!

Tribulations

* * *

Chapter 1

Readying to bury your father and your mother,   
What did you think when you lost another?   
I used to wonder why did you bother,   
Distanced from one, blind to the other?

"Sweetness Follows," R.E.M.

* * *

December 3, 2001

"Leo, I need staff...and money. It's not like I'm complaining, but I really do need both of those things. We need to get moving, fast," I said plaintively, looking at Leo.

"I know, I know. But it's hard to get staff without money," Leo replied. When I shot him one of my patented "no, really" looks, he held up his hands in a truce. "CJ, I understand what you need. If I had the money, you'd have a full staff. But at the moment..."

I interrupted, "At the moment, we don't even have someone to tell me how much money we have, Leo."

"Right." Leo sighed, and I felt bad for badgering him, but the New Hampshire primary is only about two months away. I'm not terribly concerned with campaigning in New Hampshire- God knows every resident of the state knows who Jed Bartlet is- but I am worried about what comes next. Besides, if we do badly in New Hampshire, then I don't want to think about the humiliation that we'll go through. "Look, Toby and Josh will have money for you tomorrow. Or, if they don't, you can feel free to let them face your wrath, ok?"

"Can I hire a money person at least?" I asked. Leo hesitated, and I continued, "Leo, right now the campaign staff consists of me and a 25 year old assistant with no campaign experience. I know I've done money before, but honestly, I can't do that and everything else, too!" I exploded.

"What's up?" Sam asked, coming into the room.

"I have no money," I sighed as I slumped down on the couch. "And no staff."

"Oh," Sam said. "That's a problem." Sam got one of those "no really" looks of his very own.

"Right now, I'm less concerned about communications and outreach. I need a money person."

"Why can't she have a money person?" Sam asked.

"Because we need money for communications and outreach," Leo replied.

"Yeah, you know what? I'm thinking we're pretty well known in New Hampshire," I told him. He rolled his eyes at me as Sam chuckled.

"All right, all right. Get a money guy," Leo acquiesced.

"Thank you!" I said, grinning.

"Do it cheaply," he said.

"Planning on it. Any suggestions?" I asked.

"I've heard of a guy named Scott Morley. He was assistant treasurer for Senator William's campaign," Sam offered.

"Contact info?" I asked. "And how much did he get for that?"

"Oh, hell, CJ, I don't know," Sam said. "I'll ask someone to find out."

"Today?" I asked hopefully.

"Yeah, sure."

He looked about to say something else when my cell phone rang. I glanced down at the phone and frowned. "Leo, I'm sorry, but I think I need to take this," I told him as the phone rang again. Leo nodded. I moved away from Sam and Leo and answered the phone, "CJ Cregg,"

"Ms Cregg, my name is Dr. Sara Miller from Barstow Community Hospital in Barstow, California. I'm afraid I have some difficult news for you," she said.

"Did something happen to my dad?" I asked worriedly.

"I'm afraid so, ma'am. There was an incident," she began, but I interrupted.

"An incident?" I asked. I dealt with the press on a daily basis for nearly four years. I've been working in politics for about ten years. I almost always use the words "an incident" to refer to something much more serious than I want it to appear.

"Yes ma'am. We worked on him for almost three hours, but we just couldn't get him stabilized. There was too much blood loss, and just too much damage," she continued.

"Wait, wait. Are you trying to tell me that my father is dead?" I asked, scared.

"I don't like delivering this sort of news over the telephone, but yes, ma'am. We could not save your father, and he died."

I sat down hard, but forgot to make sure there was a chair behind me and wound up collapsing on the floor. "What happened?" I whispered.

"I'm afraid the police will need to inform you of that," she replied.

"Well, is there a cop there who can talk to me?" I asked.

"Unfortunately, no, there's not," she said. I was absurdly grateful she didn't use the phrase "I'm afraid" again. My inner speechwriter critic had begun to cringe.

"Is there a number I can call?" I asked.

"The police generally prefer to have these discussions in person. Maybe it should wait until you can get here," the doctor suggested.

Get there. Get there? My father was dead. I needed to go to California. I needed to go to California three days before I was supposed to attend the trial that should put Adam Cardington in prison for assaulting me. I needed to go to California when I needed to hire a money guy. My father was dead. Dead. "Right. Get there. Um, I'm in Washington, I have to get a flight," I explained.

"Yes, right," she replied. "Please, take your time. There's no need to rush."

Right. Because it's not like he's gonna go anywhere, I thought. "What do I do?" I asked.

"Just come to the emergency department when you get here and tell them who you are. Someone will find me or one of the other doctors who worked on your father," she answered, sounding slightly relieved.

"Ok. I don't know how long it will be," I told her.

"That's fine. Someone will be here to meet you," she assured me.

"All right then," I said softly.

"Ms. Cregg? I really am very sorry," she said, just before I hung up.

"Thank you," I managed before clicking the phone off. I sat still on the floor for a long moment, ignoring Sam and Leo's concerned looks behind me. My mind was spinning, both with the news and travel arrangements. There were three airports I could fly into, all of which would mean at least an hour drive to Barstow itself. It would depend on which would be the earliest flight. I could fly into LAX, Vegas or maybe Ontario. I'd prefer Vegas, since it was usually cheaper, but Ontario was closer.

"CJ?" Leo finally asked, hesitantly.

"My...my dad died," I said in a somewhat strangled voice.

"Wow," Sam said. I managed to turn so I could see them from my place on the floor. I didn't want to try and stand up just yet.

"I'm so sorry," Leo said quietly. I nodded. "What happened?"

"I don't...I don't know. They wouldn't tell me over the phone. Something happened to him, I don't think it was a heart attack or something," I replied, starting to regain some semblance of control.

"Can we do anything?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," I admitted.

"Do you need to call anyone? Someone to meet you out there?" Leo asked gently.

"It's just...just us...just me, I guess. My mother hadn't talked to him in almost twenty years," I replied. "And I don't know where my brother is, or how long it's been since he saw my dad."

"Maybe you should call your mom anyway," Sam suggested.

"I haven't talked to her in twenty years, either," I explained quietly.

Leo got up and walked over to me. He held out his hand and waited for me to take it and pull myself up. "You should still let her know about this," he said.

"Would you want to know? I mean, if it were Jenny?" I asked him.

"Yes." He nodded firmly.

"Ok," I replied, not looking at him. "Ok." I let him guide me to a chair.

"You don't know where your brother is?" Sam asked. "I haven't seen him since I was ten," I admitted.

"Do you want to let him know about this?" Sam asked. "Because we can call the FBI or the IRS and find him, if you wanted."

I thought about it for a moment. I had wanted to look for my brother almost since we got to the White House. I could have started looking for him anytime, but when we got to Washington, I had more resources. However, I wasn't sure using those resources would be an abuse of power. On the other hand, this was something of an emergency situation. I tried to think how I would feel if I was in his place and he had information like this and didn't try to find me. Besides, if I was going to attempt to call my mother, this couldn't possibly be any worse than that. "Yeah. He should know."

"Ok. What can you tell me about him?" Sam asked. I think quickly.

"Steven Raymond Cregg, born in...um...New Madrid, I think. December 13, 1958. The last time I saw him was in 1976 sometime. I don't know if he stayed in Missouri or not."

"New Madrid is in Missouri?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. You've been there," I tell him.

"All right. Anything else?" he asked. "I don't think...no, wait. If nothing comes up under my last name, try Martensen. I don't know if he ever changed his name back," I replied, frowning.

Sam nodded. "How do you spell that?"

I sighed, "M-A-R-T-E-N-S-E-N"

"Got it," Sam said, getting up and leaving the room.

There was a quiet knock at the door, and Charlie poked his head in. "Leo, he wants you."

"Thanks," Leo replied, shooting me a look. I didn't move from the chair, but Leo left the room anyway. He must have said something to Charlie, since Charlie stayed and sat in the chair next to me, not saying a word. We looked at each other for a very long moment.

"There's nothing anyone can say that doesn't sound stupid right now," he said finally.

"No. There's not," I agreed.

"Do you know what happened?" he asked.

"No. They said the police would have to tell me, but that they wouldn't over the phone." I tilted my head and regarded him a moment. "Your mom was a cop."

"Yes." He nodded.

"Do you know what they would tell me over the phone?" I asked, half desperate to know what I was going to be walking into.

Charlie thought a moment. "Well, if it were a heart attack or something like that, they probably would have told you."

"No, no, it's not that. The doctor said there was too much damage and that he lost too much blood," I said, shaking my head.

"So, it wasn't that. They tell you if it's a car accident," he replied. I nodded, thinking about how we'd found out about Mrs. Landingham.

"So it probably wasn't a car accident."

"Right. And if it were a fire, they probably would have said that, too." He looked at me, seriously.

I took a deep breath. "That leaves homicide."

Charlie nodded. "Or some sort of assault."

"All right, then." I said, nodding firmly. Ok. My father died a violent death. I couldn't panic; there wasn't time. I swallowed back blurry images from my nightmares and took a deep breath. "How old were you?" I asked, suddenly.

Charlie doesn't seem startled by the question, but I doubt he would have shown it if he was. "Twenty." He paused and asked, "How old are you?"

"Thirty-five," I said softly, glancing at my hands. "Sorry."

"It's all right," he shrugged, then asked hesitantly, "Is your mom there?"

"Is my mom where?" I asked, confused.

"At the hospital. With your dad," he explained.

"Oh. No." I licked my lips nervously, then said, "She's...not so much in the picture."

"Oh," Charlie said. "I understand."

I looked at him, and realized that my childhood and Charlie's probably hadn't been all that different. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure," he said.

"When your mom died, did you try to let your dad know?"

He sighed. "He was long gone, but I did ask around a little, to see if...anyone knew where he was, at least. He never showed up, so I guess he either didn't know, or didn't care." I nodded. "If you think you might regret not telling her, you should at least try to find her," Charlie finished, quietly.

"Yeah. I guess so." I took a deep breath. "I need to find a flight."

"Want some help?" he asked. I nodded. "Ok, well, let's see if Margaret can help us," he said.

We went out to Margaret's desk and she looked up at me and smiled sadly. "CJ, I'm sorry."

"It's all right," I replied. "Do you think you can help me find a flight?"

"Of course," she said, turning back to her computer. Charlie dragged a chair over for me, and leaned against the desk. "Where are you going?"

"Barstow, California. But there's not an airport there. I usually fly into Vegas, but the Ontario airport is closer. I'll take whichever one is leaving soonest," I sighed.

Margaret brought up a website and started typing. "How soon do you want to leave?"

I needed to pack, I realized suddenly. I also needed to make several phone calls, not the least of which to my new assistant, Melanie. "What time is it?" I asked.

"It's 1," Charlie supplied.

"Not before 3," I said. "I need to pack, and get to the airport and everything."

"Ok. Where are your frequent flyer miles?" she asked.

"Don't have any right now. I used them all this summer," I replied, rubbing at my face.

"All right. Do you care which airline?" I shook my head. "And you want an open ended return, right?"

"Yeah, that would probably be best," I sighed.

"Ok, then." She studied the website for a moment and frowned. "Well, there's a 3:30 from Dulles to Pittsburgh, where you can catch a...no, wait, that's going to Canada. Nevermind."

"Ontario, California," I said.

"Right. Gotcha. Ok, here, we go," she says, switching windows. "There's a 4 from Dulles to Norfolk, then you catch a 5:45 to Atlanta, and from there, catch a 8:30 to Ontario. You'd get to Ontario around 10:15," she said.

"Where are you _going_?" Sam said from behind me as he reached around to wave a piece of paper in my face.

"Barstow," I answered, tipping my head back to look at him and grabbing the paper.

"I thought your dad lived in Napa," he said.

I shook my head. "We went to Napa for his birthday because he'd never been there."

"Oh." Sam started rubbing my shoulders gently. "How many planes is that?"

"Three," Margaret asked. "But they're all non-stop."

"And she'd get to Barstow at what time?" Sam asked.

"10:15," she said.

"Eastern or Pacific?" Charlie asked.

"Um, I would guess Eastern, but hang on, I'll check." She clicked quietly for a moment, frowning. "Nope. All times are local to the airport. So that's 10:15 pm Pacific."

"That's what time I'll get to Ontario," I said.

"Right," Margaret nodded.

"Is Ontario a suburb of Barstow?" Charlie asked.

"No, Ontario is near LA," Sam replied. "Barstow, however, isn't anywhere near LA, unless they've moved it."

"They haven't moved it. And it's not all that far away. Two hours from LAX, a little over an hour from Ontario," I sighed. Sam didn't reply, but he squeezed my shoulders a little harder.

"CJ, do you want this flight, or do you want me to see if I can find an earlier one?" Margaret asked.

"How much is this one?" I asked, cringing.

Margaret whistled under her breath before answering. "$750"

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Yeah, ok, I'll go with this one. Anything earlier is probably going to be more expensive, or have a longer layover somewhere else. There's only so many flights to Ontario." Thank God for American Express. I fumbled around for my bag, not remembering that I'd left it in Leo's office. Charlie got it and handed it to me. "Thanks," I said, digging through it for my wallet.

"I'm beginning to understand why you don't go home for holidays," Sam said quietly, looking at the computer screen.

"It's not usually that much. If I want to go to my dad's, I book really far in advance, and I usually fly into Vegas, which is much cheaper, but it's a longer drive," I said, handing Margaret my drivers license and credit card.

"How far is the drive from Vegas?" he asked.

"About two hours. Margaret, can you get a rental car from this site too?" I asked.

"Yeah, you can. Hang on, let me book your flight, first," she replied.

"What are you doing?" Leo asked.

"Travel arrangements," I said. I didn't look up until Sam nudged me, and I saw the President standing there. Jumping up, I said, "Sorry, Mr. President. I didn't see you come in."

"It's fine, CJ, sit down," he assured me. As I did, he looked at me sympathetically. "I'm very sorry about your father, CJ."

"Thank you, sir," I said.

"Is there anything I could do to help?" he asked.

"I honestly don't know, sir," I admitted. "Right now, I'm not even sure what happened."

"Leo told me. Is anyone going to be out there to meet you?" he asked.

I looked down. "I don't know. Probably not."

"You mean you're doing this alone?" he asked, concerned.

"Well, sort of," I said. "There's probably friends of my dad out there who'll be able to help, but I'm basically all the family there is."

"CJ, you shouldn't have to do this alone," Leo said.

"Leo, it's all right," I replied. "I'm all he has, there's really no one else to do it."

"No, what Leo is saying is someone should go with you," the President said.

I nodded. "I know. But there's no one to go. Sam needs to stay here because he's writing the speech for tomorrow night's fundraiser. Josh and Toby are in Indianapolis, and Leo needs to stay here to keep everything going."

"Abbey could go with you," he suggested.

"No, sir, she really couldn't. She needs to be here to go to the fundraiser with you. We can't afford for her to miss it any more than we can afford for you to miss it," I tell him. There have been enough rumors about the state of their marriage. The last thing any of us needed was to field the questions again. "I can miss it, since Leo will be there."

He nodded. "All right then. You'll keep us up to date?" he asked.

"Of course," I nodded.

"Good. Because I would like to attend the funeral," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"I would like that," I said. "I'll make sure you know when it is."

"Good." He nodded. "Travel safely."

"I will, sir," I said as he went back to the Oval Office. I turned to Leo who was shaking his head. "I'm fine."

"Of course you are," he said, nodding.

"Leo, she can call us if she runs into trouble," Sam spoke up. I was surprised, since I figured he didn't want me going alone either.

"And she will," Leo said, looking directly at me.

I nodded. "Yes sir."

"Ok, then. Sam, you're going to take her to the airport," Leo said.

"Your ticket will be at the American Airlines counter," Margaret said, giving me my cards back. "And I rented you a car," she added. "It'll be at the Hertz counter in the Ontario airport."

"Thanks, Margaret," I said, smiling a little at her.

"You're welcome. You should get to the airport by 3, though," she said.

"Right. Thanks." I stood up and Charlie nodded at me before going back to his desk. There's nothing he could say that wouldn't sound stupid and he knew it. I looked at Leo again.

"All right. Call us when you get there," he said.

"I will. Thank you, Leo," I said. He nodded and I followed Sam out of the office.

"Melanie, it's CJ. Listen, I have to go to California, there's been a family emergency," I said into my cell phone as Sam drove me home.

"What happened?" she asked.

"My dad died. I'm catching a 4pm flight out of here, and I don't know exactly when I'm going to be back," I explained.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "What do you want me to do?"

I think for a long moment to organize it all before giving her instructions. "I got the go-ahead to hire a money person. I have a name- Scott Morley. Sam Seaborn's office should be calling at some point today to give you contact information and some other details. I need you to check him out, quietly. See if you can find out what he's doing now, and if it might be possible that he's looking for campaign work. Ask around, see if you can get any references for him. Last resort, call the last person he worked for and see if they'll give you a reference. But keep it under the radar, I don't want any stir."

"Right. Anything else?" she asked.

"Josh Lyman and Toby Ziegler should have money for us tomorrow. Someone from one of their offices will probably be over with a check or a deposit slip, depending on what's easier. If it's a check, go ahead and deposit it. If not, then just file the slip. Other than that, keep doing what you've been doing. I'll check in, but if you run into trouble, just call Leo McGarry's office and talk to Margaret, ok? I think you'll be fine," I said, confident that she would be. Melanie may have never worked on a campaign before, but she'd been working on the Hill since she graduated from Georgetown. She knew people and knew how things worked.

"All right. Am I still deflecting the press?" she asked.

"God, yes. Give 'em to Simon. I'm gonna try and persuade Henry to come over to our side, but I haven't had the chance to talk to Leo yet," I told her. "You shouldn't have to deal with the vultures. Besides, it's going to be pretty obvious I'm not around, and most of the White House press corps knows better than to try to get things from anyone but me or Senior Staff. Hell, they know better than to ask anyone but Simon or Henry."

"There have been a couple of calls. I told them the words "Press Secretary" don't come close to anything in my job description," she said, sounding proud of herself.

"Great answer. Keep it up," I said.

"Thanks," she said.

"Ok, Mel. I've gotta pack. I'll call you tomorrow, all right?" I said as I got out of the car.

"Yeah, sure. Don't worry about me, I'll keep us standing," she said.

"I know you will. That's why I hired you," I told her, smiling a little.

"Yup. Talk to you later," she said.

"Yeah, bye," I said, clicking my phone off.

Sam looked at me as I unlocked the door of the building Josh and I now both live in. "Did someone call Josh and Toby?"

"No, and I'm not going to right now," I said, leading him up the stairs. Josh lives on the first floor, I live on the third.

"CJ..." he started, but I interrupted him.

"Sam, I will call them later tonight. Right now, I don't want them worrying about me, I want them to get us the money. That's more important at the moment."

"Ok," he acquiesced.

"So don't you go call them, you hear me?" I shot him a "don't you dare test me on this" look.

"I won't," he promised.

"All right then," I said, unlocking the door to my apartment. I sighed and looked at the messy kitchen table. There were still boxes in the living room that I hadn't had a chance to unpack yet. I pointed at the couch and told Sam, "Have a seat, I won't be long."

"All right," he said, and sat down.

I went into the bedroom as I heard Sam turn on the television. What to take, what to take? Opening my closet, I wondered if my good black suit fit. Or if I could make it fit with a minimum of difficulty. For the record, I now weighed 139 pounds, or almost 15 pounds more than I had in August. However, since I'd bought most of my clothing when I weighed closer to 150 pounds, most of them were still too big. The options were expanding day by day, but at the moment, the selection was somewhat limited to things that I could wear with belts or that looked all right if they were a bit baggy, like khakis or jeans. I shook my head, dragged a suitcase out from the bottom of the closet, and started folding dress clothes into it. If all else failed, there was a mall. Fifteen minutes later, I emerged with a full suitcase. "Ok, let's go."

"It's only 1:45, CJ," Sam looked up from CNN.

"Oh." I said, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs.

"You need more furniture," he said, glancing around at the boxes.

"I know, I haven't had time." I'd only moved into the apartment at Thanksgiving.

"Yeah, I know." He looked at me. "Do you want to get something to eat?"

I wasn't hungry, but it would be my last chance at a decent meal until I got to Ontario at least. "Yeah, that would probably be a good idea."

"All right, let's drive out to the airport and get something out there," he said, turning off the television.

"Wait a minute, let me make sure there's nothing in the fridge that's going to spoil," I said, realizing that I wouldn't be back for awhile.

"Good idea," Sam said, following me into the kitchen. We tossed the leftover pasta and the milk. I hesitated over the vegetables, but tossed them, just in case. I'd rather not come home to a fridge full of rotting vegetables.

"Oh, and I should call Monique," I said as I tied up the trash.

"Right," Sam said. "You do that, I'll take this out," he told me.

"Take the keys," I called as I walked back into the living room.

"Got one," he called back.

I scooped up the cordless phone and dug around in my bag for my address book. Monique Damien's card was stuck under the flap, and I slid it out far enough to dial the number. "District Attorneys' office," a pleasant voice greeted me.

"Hi, this is CJ Cregg. Can I speak with Mrs. Damien, please?"

"One moment, please." I tapped my fingers against the phone as I listened to the annoying hold music.

"Monique Damien," she answered.

"Hi Monique, it's CJ Cregg." We'd moved past last names about 10 minutes into our first meeting.

"Hi CJ, what's up?" she asked.

"My dad died this morning, and I'm about to fly out to California to make arrangements for the funeral. I don't know if I'll be back by Thursday," I said.

"Oh no! Are you all right?" she asked.

"For the moment. It hasn't really sunk in, but I don't expect it to until I get there," I admitted. "I just don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Not a problem. You don't need to be there on Thursday, that will just be jury selection, and that might stretch out until Friday. How about you give me a call when you have a better idea of when you'll be back. If it's before Thursday, I can try to get a continuance. Otherwise, we might just have to move your testimony," she said.

"I'm sorry," I told her.

"No, no, don't be. Not at all. It's not something you could have foreseen, you know?" she assured me. Not so much, no.

"Right."

"Ok, then. Have a safe trip, and I'm really very sorry," she said.

"Thanks. I'll be in touch," I said, as Sam came back into the apartment.

"I'll talk to you later then. Bye CJ," she said.

"Bye, Monique," I said, hanging up the phone. "She says it shouldn't cause a problem," I told Sam.

"Good," he replied, going to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. "Ready to go?" he asked when he was finished.

"Yeah. Let's go," I said, picking up my suitcase and my bag.

It doesn't rain often in Barstow, being as it's in the desert, but it rained tonight. Torrential downpours all the way from Ontario made it awfully difficult for me to see the road. I almost drove off the road at least once before I got to town, and I got soaked between the car and the door to the emergency department, despite my umbrella. Cold rain, too. I have never seen the appeal of this town. Actually, I've never been a fan of Southern California at all. But this is where my dad came after he divorced my mom, and this is where he chose to retire the summer before we won in 1998. I've only been here three time since he moved back- once the first summer we were in office, and twice last summer. I attempted to shake some of the wet from my hair, but I wasn't very successful. I sighed as I approached the front desk of the emergency department, trying unsuccessfully to disengage myself from the gnawing fear that I always felt in a hospital.

A older woman in scrubs looked up at me as I walked up. "Excuse me, my name is CJ Cregg. My father died here this morning. A doctor named Sara Miller told me I should ask for her."

"Of course," she said smiling. "I'm awfully sorry, but Dr. Miller isn't on now. I can show you somewhere where you can dry off and wait for me to try and call her, if you like."

I closed my eyes. It was almost midnight here. I'd been awake since 5:30 my time, which was approximately 22 hours ago. Of course the doctor still wouldn't be on duty, it had been almost 12 hours since she'd called me. "Ok," I finally managed.

"Ok, then. I'm Colleen. Why don't you come with me?" She led me down a hallway to a small room where there was a couch and a television. "Just wait here a moment, I'll try to find you a towel or something."

I stood dripping in the middle of the room until she came back with several towels and handed them to me. "If you'd like to change, there's a restroom right across the hall. I'll go see if I can't get ahold of Dr. Miller for you, all right?"

I nodded numbly. I'd brought my carryon in with me, and there was a set of pajamas in it, but I didn't think I wanted to change into them. They weren't revealing or anything, but they were older than God and the sweatpants had holes in the knees. Not clothing I was comfortable wearing in public. So, I just dried off the best I could. The t-shirt under my blouse wasn't too wet once I took off the blouse, and my jeans were really only damp around the bottoms. I dried my hair as best I could, and sat down to wait.

"Claudia?" I looked up at an unfamiliar voice, and saw a priest with red rimmed eyes standing at the doorway. "I'm Father Ben Saunders. I don't know if you'd remember meeting me."

"Oh, of course," I said, standing up to shake his hand. "It's nice to see you again," I said, mechanically polite. Fr. Ben was one of my dad's closest friends in town, despite the fact he was only about ten years older than me. He sat down next to me on the couch.

"I told the nurse to page me when you got here. I'm on call tonight," he explained. I nodded. "Has anyone told you what's going on yet?"

I shook my head. "I guess they're trying to track down one of the doctors."

"Yes. What did they tell you?" he asked.

"Not much. Just that there was an incident and they couldn't save my dad." I said softly.

He nodded. "Would you like to wait for the doctor, or would you rather know now?"

"Now," I said without hesitation.

"All right." He paused for a moment, and seemed to be gathering his strength. "This morning your father went for a walk in the park. I usually go with him, but it was the school Mass day, so I couldn't. While he was walking, he came across a young couple. The man was yelling at the young woman and beginning to attract a crowd. No one interfered until he shoved the girl and your father must have gotten angry. Apparently, he walked over to the couple and told the young man that was no way to treat a lady and he should be more respectful. The man had a knife and he turned and stabbed your father before running off. One of the other passersby was already on her cell phone calling the police. The ambulance was there within five minutes, but the knife severed an artery and they weren't able to repair it in time," he finished softly. I sat numb.

"Did the police find the guy?"

"Yes. He'll be charged with aggravated assault and manslaughter. Possibly murder, but it's hard to know." he answered.

I nodded. "Did...did it hurt him a lot?" I remembered Josh telling me that he hadn't felt the pain at first, he just knew something had happened to him. I hoped it was the same way with my dad.

"I'm afraid I don't know," Fr. Ben said gently. "He lost consciousness before the ambulance got there and never regained it."

"Oh." I said. After a moment I looked up and asked, "Can I see him?"

"Sure. Let me see what I can do." He patted my arm and left the room.

There is a body lying on that table. It is not my father. It is not the man who took in a scared teenager who had ridden a Greyhound bus until her money ran out around Santa Fe and she had to tentatively hitchhike the across the remaining state and a half. It is not the man who smiled proudly at his daughter's high school graduation, since as far as he knew she was the only one of his children to finish high school and go to college. It is not the man who faithfully wrote a letter a week to a not terribly faithful correspondent. It is not the man who voted for every candidate his daughter worked for if he was eligible to, and who voted in every election because he knew it was important to her. It is not the man who watched CNN and C- SPAN every day to see his daughter, the press secretary. It is not the man who spent his retirement bonus on a computer and taught himself how to use email so he could email his daughter each week- in addition to writing a paper letter at least once a month, so she would get mail that wasn't a bill. The man on that table does not possess the characteristics that made him my father.

I managed not to cry, or throw up, or scream as I stood stock still and stared at the body on that table. I even managed to say "Excuse me," to Fr. Ben and the doctor who had accompanied me before bolting out of the room and up the nearest set of stairs for a door, any door to get me out of the hospital. I was dialing my cell phone before I even hit fresh air. I had no idea what number I dialed until I heard a somewhat familiar female voice on the other end. "Ginger?" I asked around the tears that weren't letting themselves get blinked back this time.

"CJ? Is that you?" she said, sounding worried.

"Yeah..." I trailed off as it began to sound more like a sob than a word.

"Oh, sweetie. Ok, ok, hang on a moment, I'll wake Toby up. Just hang in a moment," Ordinarily, I wouldn't have thought I'd inspire Ginger to call me sweetie, but just then, I didn't care. And then I completely broke down sobbing. I heard Toby's voice in my ear, but I couldn't make any sense of what he was saying. Whatever it was, it was soothing, and I eventually calmed down. "Toby?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me," he said gently.

"God," I whispered. I took a shaky breath and said, "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's all right. You're allowed to not know what time it is," he replied.

"What time is it, anyway?" I asked.

"It's about 5:30 here, so I think it's probably about 2:30 there," he answered.

"What was Ginger doing up at 5:30 with your cell?" I asked, wiping my nose on a piece of tissue I unearthed from one of my jeans pockets.

"I was taking a nap. We never actually went to bed," he explained. "We got the money."

"Good," I said. I was having a difficult time believing that a little over 12 hours ago, my chief concern had been Toby and Josh getting the money.

"Yeah," he said, and was quiet a moment.

A thought occurred to me just then. "How did you know where I am and what's going on?" I asked. I hadn't called Toby and Josh, despite the fact I'd told Sam I would. One of my flights was late and I almost didn't make the connection in Atlanta, so I hadn't had a chance to call them until I got to Ontario, and at that point, it was after midnight, so I hadn't wanted to bother them. I had planned to call at some point later in the morning.

"Leo told us," he said.

"So long as it wasn't Sam," I muttered.

"It wasn't Sam," Toby confirmed, used to deciphering my under-my-breath comments.

"He listened for once," I sighed.

"Apparently. Speaking of which, is anyone there with you?" he asked.

"One of my dad's friends is here at the hospital with me. No one is here with me right now, though." I had sat down on the curb under the awning of the doorway. It had stopped raining, but it was still chilly.

"Ok. Are you staying at your dad's?" he asked.

"Yeah. I don't want to pay for the hotel," I shrugged. "It'll be ok."

"If you're sure. Because I can pay for a hotel room if you would be more comfortable," he said. I wasn't terribly surprised at the offer- I've long since discovered that when it involves someone's relative or close friend in the hospital, or a death in the family, no matter how loosely family is defined, Toby will move heaven and earth to make sure a friend of his in that situation is taken care of and comfortable. I remember how he took care of me after Grace and Jack died, and how he took care of Andrea when her aunt was in the hospital.

"No. Thanks, though." I said.

"Ok," he said softly.

"I should go," I said after a moment. "I probably need to do paperwork or something."

"Give me the number to your dad's," Toby said.

I sighed and rattled off a number. "I'll have my cell, you know."

"I know. I also know you probably forgot to pack the charger for your cell, since you do so with frightening consistency for a woman who is otherwise impeccably organized," he said, in his usual astringent manner.

"Shit," I mumbled, realizing that I did, indeed, leave the charger for my cell phone on the kitchen counter.

"Want me to bring it when I come out?" he asked, a little more gently.

"Please," I sighed and stood up. "No, don't bother, unless you're coming out before the funeral."

"When is the funeral?" he asked.

"No idea. Probably Thursday, maybe Wednesday, depending on how long it takes to get everything settled, and how many viewing days, etc. I think more than one is customary, but this is really my first funeral, so I don't know," I told him.

"Ok. I'll call you later, then," he said.

"Yeah, ok." I hit the off button without saying goodbye, because I never say good bye to Toby on the phone. Fr. Ben was waiting in the lobby when I walked back into the building. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine. Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm fine," I answered, more or less automatically. "Do I have to fill something out or anything?"

"Well, you need to choose a funeral home," he said. "And the hospital will arrange to have your father's body moved to the home."

"The cops are done with...well, whatever it is they need to do?" I asked. I didn't have much experience with violent crime outside of the shooting, but I have seen Law and Order more than once.

"Yes, it's all taken care of. You just need to sign the paperwork and let the hospital know where to call," he assured me.

"What funeral home does the parish use?" I asked, wearily. I couldn't see my father having an opinion about which funeral home he used, but I knew he patronized parish businesses as much as he possibly could.

"There's Sims, or there's the Witten Family," he told me.

I shrugged. "Which would you pick?"

"I'd go with the Wittens. They know...knew, your dad," he told me.

I nodded. "All right. Where's the paperwork?" Fr. Ben led me back down the hall to the nurses' desk, where they handed me some sheets of paper that I had to sign several times and initial in several more places. Fr. Ben supplied the name and phone number of the funeral home and I gave the administrative aide who took care of the paper work my cell number and my dad's number, just in case the cell died.

Once that was taken care of, a nurse handed me a small bag. "We had to throw away the clothing, but these were in your father's pockets," she said.

"Thanks," I said, gripping the bag rather tighter than necessary.

"Would you like a ride," Fr. Ben asked me.

"No thanks, I'd just have to come up here and get the car anyway." I said softly as we walked out of the hospital. It had begun to drizzle again, and I winced as the chilly water hit my face.

"All right. Call if you need anything. The number is on your dad's phone," he said, mercifully deciding to leave me on my own.

"Thanks. Can I come by later and take care of the Mass arrangements?" I asked.

"Sure. Give me a call when you're ready," he said nodding.

"Thanks," I said again and got into the car. I put the bag of my father's effects on the passenger seat and managed to pull out of the parking space before the tears started to prick at my eyes again. I swiped an angry hand across my face as I maneuvered the car down the street and towards my father's house. I sighed as I pulled into the driveway, and put my head down on the steering wheel before gathering what little energy I had left and getting out of the car to gather my luggage. I struggled with the unfamiliar door key and eventually succeeded in falling into the small foyer of my dad's small split level house. Sighing, I dumped my luggage onto the floor and took a deep breath.

On the first door in the hallway there is a laminated piece of tag board with my father's handwriting. In the dim light of the hallway nightlight, I couldn't read it, but I knew what it said. "Claudia will always have a room under my roof, no matter where I go and no matter how old she is." He had written that promise one night when I burst into tears because I was scrambling to finish term papers and projects before I graduated and I was suddenly afraid that when I went off to Berkeley, he'd move and not tell me where he went. It wasn't a completely unreasonable fear- the custody agreement my parents had renegotiated when I was sixteen said that my parents would only be legally responsible for me until I graduated from high school, whether I was eighteen at that point or not. If I wasn't, I'd be granted my emancipation from the court, which is what actually happened, since I had just turned seventeen when I graduated. My father had kept his promise. That sign had traveled to every apartment he'd had since I graduated. I rested my hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn it. I didn't want to go in there. I turned back towards the steps to the living room and decided to go sit on the couch for awhile, since I wasn't all too sure I actually wanted to sleep.

My eyes must have closed as soon as I sat down on the couch, because when I opened them, it was light outside and there was a loud banging noise coming from above me. I stumbled up the stairs and opened the door before I was really awake enough to consider whether I wanted to talk to whoever was on the other side. Josh stood on the doorstep, ready to knock on the door again. "What? What are you doing here?" I mumbled, surprised.

"My best friend's father died. Where else should I be?" he asked gently. I just blinked at him. "You were asleep?"

"I must have been. I don't remember falling asleep, though." I stepped back to let him into the house. My hands were shaking and my head felt like it was two sizes too small.

He nodded, and gently took my arm and guided me to a kitchen chair. "Sit down, you look like you're ready to pass out."

"Yeah," I said, putting my head down on the kitchen table. The wood was cool under my cheek and I felt a little bit better. Josh reached out and started rubbing my back and I was suddenly crying again.

"Shh, It's all right," he whispered as he bent down to pull me into a hug.

"I didn't want anyone," I blubbered. "I didn't want to..."

"Be trouble," he said, nodding as he continued to rub my back. "It's not trouble at all. You don't want to do this alone, trust me."

"No. I didn't. Not really." I said, beginning to calm down.

He nodded knowingly. "So then. You're not alone." He handed me a box of tissues. "How about you lie down for awhile yet? I imagine you could use the sleep." I nodded reluctantly. "Ok. Which one is your room?" he asked.

I let him lead me down the hall to my bedroom. Somehow it wasn't so scary to walk into my room now that someone else was in the house with me. Josh coaxed me into changing my clothes and tucked me into bed, brushing my hair off my face before kissing my forehead gently. "You sleep for awhile. I'll wake you up in a couple hours."

"What time is it, anyway?" I asked.

"Almost 8. I'll wake you around 11, ok?" he said.

"Yeah," I said, fighting against my eyelids.

"Ok, then. Yell if you need something," he said, as he slipped out of the room. I was asleep before he closed the door again.

When I woke up, it was much brighter in the room. I squinted at my watch and managed to make out the time. After some fuzzy arithmetic, I decided it was probably about 10:30. Not worth trying to go back to sleep. I fumbled for my glasses and slipped them on, blinking as the world snapped into sharp focus. I pulled myself up to a sitting position at the edge of the bed, leaning over with my head in my heads. "Ick," I murmured as I waited for the room to stop spinning. I hadn't eaten in far too long, and I was surprised that was the first explanation I had found for the way I felt. Something must be working, I thought as I hauled myself up and made my way out of the room and down to the kitchen.

Josh looked up at me in surprise as I slumped into the chair across from him. "Hey."

"Hi," I said, looking at him blearily. There was a basket of fruit on the table, and I grabbed a banana and peeled it. "Did you eat?"

"I ate breakfast after I landed in Las Vegas," he explained.

"Ah," I said, swallowing a mouthful of banana. "I didn't eat yet."

"I can tell," he said, eyeing the way I was devouring the banana.

"Hush," I muttered, looking around the kitchen. "I need to make a list."

"Yeah, probably," he said gently. I started to look around for a piece of paper, but he slid a notepad towards me and tossed me a pen.

"Ok. First thing, call the funeral home," I said, glancing up at him to see if he had any suggestions.

"Don't look at me. I don't know how a Catholic funeral works. Jewish people bury their dead within 24 hours," he pointed out.

"Well, I don't know much about funerals, either," I sighed. "That seems like a logical starting place, though."

"Ok," he said.

"Right then. Then, I call the church, and I have to call the people in his address book and let them know what's going on." I scribbled as I talked.

"Did you try to call your mother?" Josh asked, hesitantly.

I shook my head. "Not yet."

"Are you going to?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"All right," he said, sounding a little concerned.

I ignored him as I kept writing things down on my list. Flowers. Food. Hotel rooms for out of town people. Will. "You know those legal will kits they advertise on the radio?"

"Um, yes," Josh said.

"Are those, you know, actually legal?" I asked.

"I would think so. It would probably depend on the kit and the state you're in," Josh shrugged.

"My dad doesn't...didn't have a lawyer," I explained. "He was a do it yourself kind of guy."

"Did he have a will?" Josh asked.

I sighed. "He mentioned something about those kits to me once, but he never told me if he actually got one or anything like that." I got up and walked down the stairs to the living room. If he had written a will, it would probably be in the bottom left hand desk drawer with the rest of his important papers. I rooted through the drawer for a couple of minutes before finding a folder that said "Will and Testament". I glanced through the contents as I walked back up to the kitchen. "Well, this is what he had."

Josh took the folder from me and looked through it silently for a moment. "So far as I can tell, this is all in order. You might ask Sam, though. He's probably more familiar with California law than I am."

"Ok," I said, putting the folder aside for a moment. There was a church bulletin tacked up on the refrigerator. "I'm going to start making calls," I said, reaching out to snag the bulletin.

"Sure. Yell if you need help," Josh said, getting up and moving towards the stairs. I looked at the advertisements on the back of the bulletin to find the number for the funeral home and started in on my list of calls.

It was amazing how things just started to come together. After a fifteen minute talk with the funeral home director, I could cross off half my list. By early evening, I'd showered, eaten, finished arrangements with the funeral home, planned the funeral Mass with Fr. Ben, and talked to about fifty people about when and where things were taking place. There were only two items left on the list- make sure my good black suit fit, and that I had something suitable to wear to the viewing tomorrow, and attempt to call my mother and my brother. Neither of which I was anxious to do.

"This all that's left?" Josh asked. He'd admitted about three hours ago that he couldn't actually read my list. It was so badly scribbled that I was surprised I could read it. But he could tell as well as I could how many things weren't crossed off.

"Yeah," I nod.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked, as he has after every task we've completed.

"You can't do anything on this one," I said softly.

He nodded with realization. "Want me to leave?"

I shook my head quickly. "No."

"Ok, then." He handed me the phone and I took a deep breath as I dialed it.

"Yeah?" A male voice asked on the other end of the line. "Is Sara Jane there?" I asked, feeling the vowels in the words start to relax.

"Minute," the voice said laconically. As I waited, I couldn't help but wonder who he was. Was he like my stepfather? Was he like my brothers? Was he my brother?

"Hello?" Her voice was still low and thick, just like always.

"Mama?" I asked, unable to help myself. "I'm sorry?" she asked.

"This is Claudia," I said slowly, not sure what to expect.

"Oh." The word was flat, but not completely uninviting. "What do you want?"

"Daddy died yesterday," I said, hearing my voice get lazy in response to hers.

She didn't answer right away. "How?" she asked, finally.

"Someone stabbed him," I said calmly, just as I had for a couple dozen people before her.

"Ok." She didn't say anything more for a long moment, and I was about to ask if she was still there, but then she said, "You're not the news girl anymore."

"No," I replied. "I'm not." I wasn't sure why she asked, but part of me was vaguely comforted at the knowledge that my mother had seen me on TV. It was a short lived comfort, though.

"Get fired, did you?" she asked.

"No. I got sick, so I resigned," I answered, slowly. It was the simple explanation I gave people to explain Adam and my decent into anorexic hell.

"You stopped giving it up like a nice girl, didn't you?" Her voice stung me in ways I hadn't remembered. I spit out my answer before I could identify the pain.

"I never did that. Not once, not ever." My own voice was venomous.

"More like no one would take from a smart mouthed little girl," she replied, almost idly.

I closed my eyes. This had been a mistake. "I got my job because I was good at it," I replied. "I didn't have to spread for it." Unlike you, Mother, I thought, but didn't say. Josh looked up at me in alarm, but I didn't acknowledge him.

"You were never good at anything but causing trouble. I'm just surprised it took them so long to figure that out. I imagine your father never did," she said. Something in her voice sounded a little strange to me, yet familiar. I closed my eyes against the sudden tears and willed them away. Suddenly, I realized what I had never recognized as a child. My mother was drunk. Or high. And she always had been. And I was 35 years old, not 7. And I didn't have to continue this conversation.

I forced my voice back to "normal", concentrating on the somewhat elusive accent I'd picked up over the years and long exposure to Toby and other northern acquaintances and friends. I clipped the vowels back into their New England formations, and found that tiny hint of Britain again as I said, "Well, I just thought you would want to know about my father. Apparently, I was mistaken. I'm sorry to have bothered you and sorry that I wasted my time."

"Don't you back talk me, young lady," my mother snapped.

"I'm not back talking," I said, calmly. "I'm saying goodbye." I paused for a moment, but she didn't say anything further. I hung up the phone before I could change my mind. Josh stirred uncomfortably in his chair. "Well, that was fun," I remarked dryly.

"CJ," he started.

"Don't. Don't say it," I said, my voice getting higher. It was becoming difficult to sit still in the chair and I tried to take a surreptitious deep breath.

"Claudia Jean," he tried again.

"No, Joshua. I don't want to talk about it right now," I said in the most controlled voice I could manage. I dug around in my jeans pocket to avoid his gaze. I found the piece of paper that Sam had given me. "I gotta make this call," I said. He didn't respond as I dialed the number on the paper. I fidgeted with the torn edge as I listened to the phone ring.

After six rings, an answering machine picked up. "Sorry, I'm busy right now, but let me know how to get back to you and I will when I get the chance. If you're looking for Evan or Chris, try 513- 254-1654. Thanks."

I swallowed as the machine beeped. "This message is for Steven Cregg. My name is Claudia, and, well..." I paused for a moment, not sure what to say. "I don't know if you remember, but...ok, I'm not doing this very well. Um, if this is the Steven Cregg who grew up near Three States, Missouri, please call me at 202-431-8972. I'd really like to talk to you. If that's not you, or there's no Steven at this number, I'm sorry, please excuse the ring. Yeah...ok, bye," I said hurriedly, as I hung up. I hadn't recognized the voice, but I had hardly seen or talked to Steven since he was 15, so it was likely I wouldn't have. I slumped down in the chair with a sigh.

"CJ, I'm sorry," Josh whispered.

"Me too," I whispered back.

"CJ?" Donna called from the hallway. I stuck my hand out the open bathroom door to tell her I'd be with her in a moment, as I spit my toothpaste into the sink.

"Yeah?" I asked, poking my head around the door.

"They're going to be here in about twenty minutes," Donna said.

"Ok, thanks," I said as I started to smear moisturizer on my face. My hands shook and I tried to quell the feeling in the pit of my stomach so I could put on my makeup without ruining it. I could hear Donna moving around in the kitchen and was suddenly very glad she had volunteered to stay with me while I got ready for the funeral. The last two days had been a blur of activity and condolences. I'd barely slept, and I wouldn't have eaten if it weren't for Josh. And even then I'm not sure I'd have eaten as much as I did if Toby hadn't come out the next day. I checked myself in the mirror one last time before leaving the bathroom and heading to my room to finish getting dressed. The black suit was a bit loose, but not overly large, and a safety pin made it wearable, thankfully.

Donna was answering the door as I emerged from the bedroom. "CJ," she said, turning to me as she let my father's next door neighbor into the house.

"Hi, Mrs. Morgan," I said, smiling a little.

"Hello, CJ. Quite a day, isn't it?" she asked, returning my smile.

"Yes. Yes, it is. The casserole was very good, thank you," I said. Actually, I had no idea what the casserole had actually tasted like, but Josh had liked it, so I assumed it was good.

"Oh, you're welcome dear. Are you staying long after the funeral?" she asked.

"No." I shook my head. "I'm going back to Washington tonight with everyone." Opening arguments started tomorrow, and I needed to be back for them.

"The trial," she said, nodding.

"Right." I knew my father would have told Mrs. Morgan about the trial. They had lunch twice a week.

"Your father intended to go to Washington for it, you know," she said softly.

I blinked. "He did?" I asked.

"Mm-hm. He was going to pick the tickets up that day," she replied.

"He didn't say anything," I said, startled.

"He didn't want you to tell him not to come," she said. Outside, a horn honked. "We should go, dear."

"Right," I said, dazedly. Donna handed me my coat and my purse and I locked the house up as we left.

The ride to the funeral home was a blur. I barely paid attention to what I was doing as one of the women from the church began the rosary. I stood between Josh and Toby, two silent witnesses. The man from the funeral home chased everyone out and let me have a moment before he sealed the coffin. I pulled a small envelope out of my purse and slipped it into the coffin along with the rosary I'd used- it was his. And then the next I knew, I was at the church singing the responsorial psalm in a tremulous voice. Someone's hand squeezed my shoulder. It might have been the First Lady's, but I didn't know. Fr. Ben talked about how much my father had loved being a part of the church and the community, and then he was beckoning me to come finish the eulogy. I slipped out of my pew and walked carefully around the coffin to the lectors' stand. The church wasn't packed, but it was fairly full and my vision blurred as I looked around.

Taking a deep breath I began. "For the first fifteen years of my life, I thought my father had abandoned me. But that idea was hard to reconcile with the fact that he was genuinely happy to see me standing on his doorstep on a hot August day, needing a place to stay. I was a stand-offish child, a very angry young lady who didn't think she needed anyone. I didn't recognize that I needed him just as much as he needed me. I didn't trust him, not even when he promised I'd always have a place in his home. Yet, he still loved me, and took the time to talk to me every evening, even if he got nothing but monosyllables in return. When I left for college, he wrote me every single week, not missing once. And he did the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me. In the first four months I was at Berkeley, I grew nine inches. I was broke, and didn't have the money to replace the clothes I'd outgrown, so I was borrowing clothes from my roommate. He came to visit for Parents' Weekend and was surprised at how much I'd grown. Two days after he left, there was a package for me- the first package I'd ever gotten. In it, were three pairs of blue jeans, a sweater, a button down shirt and three t-shirts. He had gone to a department store, told the saleslady how tall I was, and between the two of them, figured out what size I was and found me some clothes. I still have a pair of jeans from that package. Something about that package convinced me that my father really did love me. I couldn't deny the fact that I hadn't known who he was for fifteen years, though, and I confronted him once. When I accused him of skipping out on his child support obligations, he simply walked over to the desk and pulled a folder out of a drawer. In that folder, were cancelled checks for every single month from the time I was three. And on the memo line of each check, he had written, "Child support for my boys, Mark and Steven and for my Claudia." He hadn't abandoned me. I just hadn't known it." My voice broke, and I took a deep breath, blinking back the tears. "I am so very glad I found out when I was eighteen, and not now. I am so very glad I had seventeen years of knowing and believing how much my father loved me, and letting him know how much I loved him. He told me, when we went to Napa for his birthday, he wished he'd fought harder, longer for me, and that his only regret in life was that he believed the lawyer who told him getting custody of his children would be impossible. I told him...I told him I forgave him, and I think that might have been the best birthday present I could have given him, even if I was a day late. I only wish my brothers could have known him, like I did." I looked at the coffin and smiled a little bit. "He wasn't perfect, but he sure tried." I looked out over the congregation and nodded a little. As I passed the coffin on my way back to my seat, I whispered so softly I could barely hear it, "And flights of angels sing you to your rest, Daddy. I love you."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

I hear you in my head  
All of the things that you said   
I'll be keeping all your secrets 'till the end   
'Cause I'm getting used to   
Thinking of you as a friend

"Strange Wind", Poe

* * *

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" I jumped at Leo's voice. He was standing in the doorway of the conference room that we'd decided to sit in on Air Force One. It had felt strange not having to argue and discuss every little aspect of a trip on the way back to DC, but no one had seemed all that willing to leave me by myself, so we'd all just gravitated to a room.

"Shh," I whispered, looked around. Toby had just fallen asleep about ten minutes before, the last hold out, other than me. Sam had crashed hard within ten minutes of takeoff, and Carol and Donna had followed suit quickly. Margaret had meandered in and taken a seat, only to fall asleep shortly after we'd passed sandwiches from the galley around. Josh, Toby and I had played a quiet game of gin rummy until Josh was so sleepy he couldn't add up his points anymore. Neither Toby nor I were in much mood for conversation, and we'd been quietly working on our separate projects when Toby fell asleep over what looked like a particularly boring piece of legislation.

"Everyone's on DC time," Leo remarked quietly.

I glanced at my watch and found that it was long past midnight on the East Coast. "I adjust quickly," I replied.

"I know you do," Leo said, meaning more than the time change. He looked at the report from Melanie that I was reading. "Melanie's a good kid."

"She is. I'm glad I hired her," I said, smiling a little. Donna had met with her before they came to California and gotten all the things Mel had put in my inbox for me. Melanie's report on Scott Morley was well organized and very thorough. Thinking of something, I asked, "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure," Leo replied. "Let's take a walk." We walked down the corridor to the deserted press area. Leo motioned me to take a seat, and he sat down across the aisle from me. "What's on your mind?"

"I've been thinking, and I honestly believe the only way we're going to pull this campaign off is if we run a completely above-board campaign. No questionable soft money, no equivocating on issues or hard questions, no secrets, Leo," I said, looking him right in the eye. "I'm not saying we hold a press conference to divulge every little secret we have, but if someone comes up with something, we have to be prepared to say, yes, that is true, without hesitating. If something is damaging, we have to be prepared to disclose it if necessary."

He nodded. "I know."

I nodded back. I'd hoped he'd come to the same conclusion before I had. "So, I'm gonna have to ask everyone, all of us, if there are any secrets. It's not that I want to be a nosy parker or anything, but I gotta know. And I know some people aren't going to be happy about it," I said.

"Ask your questions, CJ. Let me worry about people being happy about it," Leo said. He regarded me seriously for a moment, then said, "You can start with me, if you like."

"Ok," I said slowly. "Are there any secrets, Leo?" I half held my breath, waiting for the answer.

"There's always secrets, CJ," he sighed. Before I could make an exasperated face, he continued, "But yes, CJ." I nodded solemnly and waited for him to continue. "Do you remember the last debate? When the President had an ear infection?"

"Yes, of course," I said. "Wait. You mean that was really an MS thing?"

"No. No, it was really an ear infection. I've got that from Abbey and from the other doctor who looked at him. Abbey was afraid it would trigger an attack, but it didn't. The only attack he's had since he started running for President was the one you already know about," Leo reassured me. "This doesn't have anything to do with the President, it has to do with me."

"All right," I said softly.

"I...wasn't exactly on the wagon that day," he admitted. He looked down, then back up at me, as if testing my response. I blinked but didn't otherwise react.

"Oh," I said, keeping my voice completely neutral. "What happened?"

Leo started talking, telling me about funding and 60 year old scotch and I nodded and made sympathetic noises in what sounded like the right places, but I wasn't listening so much as hearing and saving his words for later. What I was doing was reviewing that day in my mind to see what I hadn't noticed. I remembered the President collapsing and Josh looking for Leo. I remembered standing outside of the room where the President and the First Lady were, listening to Sam and Toby argue nervously about the social security answer, trying not to be afraid that it wouldn't matter at all. They had been making me jittery, so I'd gone to try and find Josh and see if he and I could cobble up a reasonable answer for why we'd called a doctor and what was going on without making it sound like the candidate wasn't fit to take part in the debate, or worse, the election. I'd seen him talking to Leo at the bottom of the stairs. They were talking too quietly for me to hear, but at the time, I'd thought they were discussing the President. Josh had glanced up and seen me and stopped me before I got to the bottom of the stairs. He asked me to go find Donna for him and bring him his op-prep notes. I'd told him I needed an answer, and he'd replied that he knew, and that I should go get the notes from Donna, and he'd help me with the answer in a minute. Looking back, I realized that Leo hadn't looked at me once throughout the entire exchange, but had instead been staring off into space beyond Josh's shoulder. I'd been too flustered at the time for it to really show up on my radar, and something in Josh's tone of voice had told me that he really wanted me to just do what he asked and not question it. I had gone and found Donna, and then gone back to Josh. When I'd seen Leo again later, he'd seemed fine, but I remember feeling like something wasn't quite right. I'd put it down to nerves, and ignored it at the time. Now, I remembered feeling like I had in Manhattan, Kansas, as if I had walked into something I didn't quite have enough details to piece together, but if I thought hard enough, I'd see what was going on. That's never been an unfamiliar feeling to me, and after my recent conversation with my mother, I knew why. I shoved those thoughts away roughly and nodded at Leo, who was finishing his explanation. He looked at me, waiting for a response.

"So, Josh, the President, and Congressman Gibson know this," I said.

"And you, yes. I'd imagine Margaret and Abbey know, even though neither of them has ever said so," he said. "My sponsor knows, too."

"Jenny or Mallory?" I asked, feeling terrible for pushing.

"They know I slipped. They don't know exactly when, or what happened," he said softly. "I didn't want to...It's hard to explain," he admitted.

"No, no, I know," I said, nodding. "I really do." I knew the obsession with secrecy, and how out of control things can seem. "Are you all right?" I asked, after a moment.

"I'm fine, now. I talked to my sponsor every night for ninety days, since I didn't really feel like I could go to a meeting, and everything was fine. I haven't touched anything since, and you have some evidence of that, don't you?" he said, smiling a little bit. I smiled back. At state dinners and other functions like that, Leo is often served sparkling grape juice, so it's not completely obvious that he's not having wine like everyone else. I usually sit next to Josh, and I quickly got into the habit of occasionally "accidentally" drinking out of the wrong wine glass, so that Josh doesn't have more than one glass of alcohol with dinner. It wouldn't be prudent for the deputy chief of staff to get wasted at an official function, and more than one glass of wine, plus whatever after dinner drinks are served, or whatever was served as an aperitif, or at a reception would be too much for Josh to handle and not cause trouble. I can get away with it just fine, and this way Josh's macho reputation isn't bruised, at least publicly. Leo knows I do that, since I've occasionally been seated next to him, but forgot that I didn't have to monitor my seatmate's alcohol intake. I've been quite surprised a couple of times, but I've managed to not give away the game, so to speak.

"Ok," I said. "I'm sorry..." I started to apologize, but Leo waved it aside.

"Don't be sorry, CJ. You're doing your job, and you're doing just fine," he said firmly. "You remember that, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," I said, nodding.

"Haven't I taught you anything in the past four years?" he said, rolling his eyes.

I smiled involuntarily. "Yes, Leo." Leo had spent the better part of three months trying to teach me that I didn't have to call him sir when I first joined the campaign. He finally threatened to dock my pay every time I did it, and then fire me before I stopped doing it.

"That's better. Now, here's something else you should probably know, but I have to give you a caveat, first. I would be fine if we disclosed my slip. I don't know how necessary it is, since I think if Gibson was going to do anything with it, he would have when Lillianfield was going to town on us, or he would have already told Lillianfield and it would have come up already. This next thing, I would rather we not disclose it unless there is no other possible way out. It doesn't only affect me, it affects several other people as well, some of whom have nothing to do with this campaign," he said, seriously.

"There's an AA meeting, isn't there," I said.

"How did you know that?" he asked incredulously.

I shrugged. "I didn't for sure, but I guessed there might be some sort of secret meeting. It just...made sense. I had a friend in college whose dad did AA, and even though his dad had been sober for about 5 years before he even got married and had kids, he still went to meetings every so often. I just assumed the same was probably true for you, and I also assumed you aren't the only alcoholic in the upper echelons of the federal government who probably can't go openly to meetings because the press would demonize it and paint it as though you all are on the verge of falling off, or can't take the pressure of the job, when that's not the case at all. It's the same with Josh and his therapist during the campaign, or now, for that matter."

Leo cocked his head at me and asked, "How long have you been assuming this?"

"Since the campaign. I didn't want to be taken totally by surprise," I admitted. "I don't actually know anything about a meeting, I just guessed one probably existed. I never told anyone, either."

"How many other assumptions you've been carrying around with you this whole time?" Leo said softly.

"Lots," I said shortly. "I have a habit of finding the worst case scenario and trying to think how to diffuse it when it comes to thinking about the press. It doesn't always work, but sometimes it does," I said, thinking of my own mistake over Haiti.

"I see." He didn't say anything for a moment, but I could tell he wasn't done. "I can't tell you anything about the meeting, you know."

"That would kind of kill the point of it being anonymous," I said, nodding.

"Yeah. But, I can tell you there might be a problem with secrets as a result." Leo said enigmatically. I looked at him blankly. "You're smart, you're observant. I think you can figure it out, if you keep asking your questions."

"Do I want to know?" I asked.

"It would be better if you did. I'm not saying you should necessarily act on any information you discover. In fact, I don't know that you should. But it's information you should have," Leo said.

I digested this for a moment. "All right," I said slowly. "Any thing else I should know?"

He shook his head. "Not from me, no."

"Ok," I said, glancing at my watch. "Shouldn't we be almost home?"

"Just about," Leo said, looking at his. "Go wake everyone up for the landing."

"All right," I said. "And, thanks, Leo." He nodded to me as he headed back for his own seat to strap in for landing. I went back to the conference room, musing on what I'd just learned. I woke Josh first, and once he was semi-coherent, I asked, "Can we talk sometime soon?"

"Sure. About what?" he yawned.

"It'll hold, I just want to talk to you sometime," I said.

"Whenever, you know that," he said, getting up and stretching as he went to shake Sam awake. Everyone strapped themselves in, and I found my eyes closing as we made our gentle decent towards the ground. It was past my bedtime, after all.

"I like this," Josh said, sipping his coffee. I smiled as I demonstrated my latent waitressing skills and put a bowl and spoon down in front of him while juggling my own bowl, spoon, coffee cup, the box of cereal, the milk and the sugar bowl. "It's kind of like being back in a dorm, but with more space and better food." I laughed as I sat down across from him. I had been awake, but not out of bed yet when there was a knock on my door. I'd gotten up, thrown a sweatshirt over my leggings and t-shirt, and answered the door to find Josh standing in the hallway in his bathrobe and slippers, asking if I wanted company for breakfast.

"It is, a little," I said, dumping some cereal in my bowl and sprinkling a generous teaspoon of sugar over it before adding the milk. I slid the cereal across the table to Josh, who eyed it suspiciously. "Grape Nuts are good for you, Joshua," I said, taking a big bite.

"They're gravel," he replied.

"There might be a box of Wheat Chex in the pantry," I offered.

"CJ Cregg, the queen of healthy cereal. What's wrong with Lucky Charms?" he asked.

"I'm not going to ask why a 40 year old man eats Lucky Charms," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Hey! 38, thank you!" he said. "And why shouldn't I eat Lucky Charms. They're good."

I made a face. "Are you going to eat my cereal or just complain about it?"

He stuck his tongue out at me, but poured the Grape Nuts into his bowl. "You could at least eat the flakes. Or the rings."

"I don't like the flakes. And the Grape Nut O's cost like a $1.50 more a box," I replied. "I like these, anyway. Here," I said, sliding the sugar bowl at him.

"Thanks," he said, dumping three spoonfuls into his bowl. I shook my head, but didn't say anything. "I meant to call you last night, but I didn't get home until really late."

"It's all right," I shrugged.

"Did everything go ok, then?" he asked.

"Nothing really happened. They hadn't finished jury selection yet, so I spent the whole day reading in the witness room," I explained. Yesterday had been my first day at the trial. "They decided I can't be in the room until I've testified."

"Yeah, that's standard procedure," he said, nodding.

"Monique says she should get to me by Monday afternoon, easily. She thinks the whole thing could be wrapped up by Wednesday or Thursday, depending on how long the jury takes," I said, swirling my spoon around in my cereal.

"That's good," Josh said, nodding.

"Oh, I do have something kind of amusing to tell you, though," I said, brightening as I remembered something Monique had told me yesterday.

"Really?" he said, looking up.

"Apparently, since I'm considered a public figure, the lawyers had to ask some extra questions during the jury selection because certain people were automatically disqualified if they knew me, or wouldn't be able to be unbiased," I said.

"Right," he said.

"So, they were asking things like, "are you a federal employee," and if the juror was, then they asked if they'd ever had any dealings with my office, or with me. I guess most of them said no, because let's face it, how many federal employees are there in this town?"

"Millions," Josh said, nodding.

"Well, Aaron Fleming got called for jury duty. You know him, he's one of the SS guys who man the checkpoints," I said.

"Yeah, yeah, I know Aaron," he said.

"Well, they ask him if he's a federal employee, and he says, yes, I work in security for the Treasury department, because, I mean, you don't just go around saying, yeah, I'm with the Secret Service." Josh laughed, and I continued "So they ask him, "do you know CJ Cregg?" Apparently, he said, "I should hope I know her, I only check her ID 10 times a day!" Monique and the defense lawyer just looked at each other, looked at the judge, and said, "yeah, I think Mr. Fleming can be excused for cause!" I finished, laughing.

Josh laughed. "Too bad he couldn't be on the jury."

"Yeah, I know. Monique seemed happy about the jury, though, so we'll see," I said, finishing my cereal.

"I wish I could be there when you testify," Josh said, suddenly serious.

"No you don't. It's fine, Josh. I'll be fine," I said. It was a closed trial, and only family members were allowed to attend, which meant none of my friends could be there. "Besides, you've got a packed schedule this week. Leo told me," I said, waving it off.

"Ok," he said, quietly.

"Really, Josh, it's fine. I'm not upset about it," I said.

"You're doing all right?" he asked.

I nodded. "I guess. I'm kind of numb about the whole thing," I admitted.

"It's not surprising. You've had quite a week," he said gently.

"Yeah," I said, not looking at him. We sat quietly for a long moment. "Josh?"

"Yeah?" he said. "I talked to Leo on the way back from California," I said, slowly.

"I know. He told me," Josh said, calmly.

"Did he tell you what we talked about?" I asked.

"Not exactly. He said you had some questions for all of us, and that we'd better answer them without complaining," he said.

"I asked him if there were any secrets," I said.

"And he said?" Josh asked. I don't think anyone but me or Donna would have noticed that he was holding his breath. I wasn't sure what to make of that.

"That there's always secrets," I answered, looking at him. "There's always secrets."

"Yeah," Josh said. "There are."

"And Leo had a big one," I said. "As did you."

"CJ, I would have never let you get the question," he said, slowly. "You would have known before you got the question."

"I'm not mad. I understand what happened and why," I assure him. "But Leo told me something else that I don't know if you're aware of, and I'm not sure I can tell you if you aren't." I pulled one of my legs up onto the seat of my chair and rested my chin on my knee. "And it may lead to a vitally important question."

Josh was quiet for a long moment. "You know it won't go farther."

"I do," I said. I took a deep breath. "There's an AA meeting."

Josh relaxed slightly. "Yeah?"

"You knew?" I asked.

"Nope," he said. "Did you just now find out?"

"No. Not really. I'd known, but I hadn't been told, you know what I mean?" I said.

He nodded. "You're too sharp by half." I shrugged.

"Maybe not. If I was, I would have known many, many things before they happened."

"Claudia Jean, you didn't have any reason to think anything sinister was happening in Kansas," he said.

"But I didn't have any reason to think nothing was happening, either," I retorted. "And I should have seen Leo's problem, too. I remember that night."

"I sent you away before you got to the bottom of the stairs. I didn't want you to see him," Josh said quickly, remembering too. "You didn't need to worry about it. None of you did."

I just looked at him. "Josh," I said, but trailed off before I could complete the thought.

"No, CJ. It was all right. I'd seen it before, I knew how to handle it. I remember Leo McGarry before rehab. Vividly, as it happens," he said.

"Was he awful?" I asked, morbidly curious now.

"Not usually. Not in public. Mallory might tell you a different story, but it's not like you might think." Josh stopped, and seemed to be weighing something. "This goes no farther."

"No," I agreed.

"Leo and my dad were friends in college. They were two kids from Boston stuck in the Midwest, and it was something of a culture shock for them both. After graduation, Leo married Jenny and went into the Navy- he'd been on a ROTC scholarship. My dad moved to New York, to go to Columbia for law school, where he met and married my mom. Joanie came along soon after, and I was born the year he graduated law school. Leo's hitch in the Navy was almost up at that point, but Jenny was pregnant. She'd had two miscarriages, but this time, it looked like she would keep the baby. Mallory was born in 1964, the same year Leo's enlistment ended, but he'd already heard from my dad how difficult it was to have a baby and be in law school at the same time. The Navy told him if he signed up for another tour, they'd pay for him to go to law school, and it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up. He didn't know he'd be headed for Vietnam. Afterwards, Leo went to the University of Chicago for law school, and then they moved to DC and he started working his way up the ladder, you know how it is," he said. I nodded. "Yeah. I'm not entirely clear on how this part of the story goes- I was old enough to know what was going on, but it was all around the same time that Joanie died, so things are pretty mixed up in my mind. We hadn't been in Connecticut for very long at that point. I think this might have been right after the McGarry's moved to DC. Mallory was probably in second or third grade when Jenny got pregnant again. Everything seemed normal, and she had a boy. Something was wrong with the baby, though, and he only lived a week. I don't know exactly what happened, but I remember my mom went down to DC for a couple of weeks to help Leo out with Mallory because Jenny was inconsolable. She was depressed for a long, long time. Leo was basically a single dad for almost a year, I think, because Jenny just couldn't deal with things. So, here's Leo. He's a staffer for some Representative, with all the stress and the hours that means. He just lost a son, his wife is practically suicidal, and he's almost single- handedly raising his grade-school daughter. At the end of the day, the only thing that makes any of it bearable is the scotch and soda. Or the gin and tonic. Or some Jack Daniels straight up." He looked at me. "And he hid it. For longer than anyone would have really expected. The first indication anything was amiss, at least to my parents, was at least a year after Jenny recovered. We had come down for one of the parties Leo and Jenny used to throw- he was working at the DNC at this point, I think- and a lot of people were there. The Bartlets were there- I didn't know that until Abbey told me- and apparently I got into a scuffle with Elizabeth. I don't really remember what it was all about, Liz is a couple years younger than me- well, she's what? About 18 months younger than you?" he asked.

"Mmm, about that, yeah. Maybe 2 years," I said nodding.

"Well, Mallory and I have known each other since we were babies. She's only 20 months younger than me, so we're more like cousins than family friends. Anyway, Liz said something that annoyed me, and I did something to make her cry, and her mom came out and scolded both of us, and my dad followed her- I think this was when I was still a little weird about Joanie, or maybe just after that- and told me I should come in and sit with him for awhile. Mallory decided to come with me, to keep me company, and we sat on the floor by my dad's feet and listened to the adults talk about politics while we played cards. Leo came into the room, and it was pretty obvious he wasn't very sober. And he was talking kind of wild, and not making a whole lot of sense, and came about an inch away from insulting a fairly prominent person- I don't know who it was, I wasn't paying attention. Jenny said something to Leo, and Mallory's attention was riveted, so I looked up too. Leo was, well, plastered. And he apparently came damn close to saying something unforgivable to Jenny before she got him out of the room. Mallory was very, very quiet, and I remember asking her what was going on and not getting an answer. She decided she didn't want to play cards anymore and went back outside, but I stayed with my dad. Later on, I overheard my parents talking about it, and my mom said she wondered how long Jenny would put up with it before doing something about it. My dad tried to help, multiple times over the years, but Leo wouldn't listen. They had a big fight, and didn't talk for a long time. I remember Jenny and Mallory stayed with us for about a week one summer, and I remember my parents getting a phone call in the middle of the night from Leo, who was on his way to Arizona and rehab. He and my dad never quite made up, but they were on pretty good terms when my dad died. So, yeah, I remember what Leo McGarry was like drunk. And I never want to see it happen again, and I didn't want him to have to go through that again, so I kept his secret without him asking me to. It was important. It's what sons do for old friends of their father," he said, looking me straight in the eye.

I nodded, processing everything. "I'm not used to keeping other people's secrets," I confessed.

"Of course you are," Josh replied, startled. "You keep everyone's secrets, CJ. You just don't realize it."

"Not secrets like these. Not secrets with history," I said.

"You keep secrets with history every day. There's no such thing as a secret without history," he replied smiling. "Besides, if I was going to entrust someone with a secret, I'd choose you over almost anyone, because you'd probably have figured out my secrets before I told you."

"Josh," I began, but stopped.

"You know all my secrets, Claudia Jean," he said, solemnly.

"Do I?" I asked, equally serious.

"All of my secrets," he said nodding.

"Ok," I said, thinking a moment. "Josh?"

"Yes?" he asked.

"What don't I know?" I asked, tilting my head as I regarded him.

He sighed. "I keep telling you you're too smart, and you keep denying it."

"What don't I know?" I repeated.

"The AA meeting. What do you know about it?" he asked.

"Absolutely nothing outside of the fact that it exists and Leo's been at least once," I replied, waiting for the rest.

"Yeah. Well, I might know another participant," he said slowly, tensing up again.

"Wait," I said. "Should we be doing this? Trying to figure out who goes to AA?"

"Probably, yes, probably not, no," Josh said shrugging. "I don't know what the protocol here is, actually."

"Me neither." I stopped for a moment.

"Leo told me that I could probably figure out the secret he couldn't tell me if I kept asking my questions."

Josh thought a moment. "He's probably right."

"And I'm assuming what you're going to tell me is going to betray a confidence," I said, slowly, looking at him.

"In a way, yes," Josh said, nodding.

"I don't want you to do that. I don't want you to say it," I decided.

"Ok," Josh said, seeming a little bit relieved.

"But," I said, thinking again. "Leo said I should know the secret, even if I ultimately decided not to do anything with it."

Josh considered. "Yeah. He's right."

"This is a bit of a dilemma, isn't it?" I asked, smiling a little bit. Josh smiled back, humorlessly. "Not easy to be a principled person sometimes," I muttered. I took a deep breath and stared off into space, lost in thought. Leo went to an AA meeting. There is a participant in this secret AA meeting that has something to do with us. So far as I know, it's not the President. It's not Abbey. It's not Toby, I'm virtually certain of that. I don't think it's Sam, either. And Josh just said I knew all his secrets, so it's not him, either. Who's left? I don't care about Congress at the moment, they aren't involved in this. Nancy McNally? I've seen her drink at State Dinners, so I'm just going to assume it's not her. Admiral Fitzwallace is out for the same reasons. Hell, Fitzwallace actually had a drink with me the last occasion I was at, and I know his definitely had alcohol in it. Who else would matter? Oh. My. God. "Josh," I said quickly, my eyes refocusing on him.

"Yeah," he answered.

"I'm gonna say a name. If I'm right, you...you just don't do anything. If I'm wrong, tell me I'm crazy, ok?" I ordered, feeling like I'd seen "All the President's Men" a few too many times. "You ok with that?"

"I'm ok with that," he said, slowly, his eyes meeting mine.

I took a deep breath. "John Hoynes." His eyes never left mine, but he made no effort to speak. I nodded slowly and we both recognized the realization in each other's eyes. "Wow."

"Yeah," he said softly.

"How...who..." I didn't even know where to begin.

"Leo knows. Has known. I assume the President knows," he replied.

"But no one else?" I asked.

"It's not a secret, really. Or, it's more of an open secret. Not like Leo, where everyone knew, but didn't, you know what I mean?. Hoynes has been sober since before he got into politics, and he's been on record as saying he is an alcoholic," Josh explained.

"When?!" I asked, incredulously. "I'm sure I wouldn't have missed that."

"A very long time ago, back when he was first running for the Texas State Legislature," Josh admitted.

"No one ever brings it up," I pointed out.

"No, because everyone assumes it's a well known fact, when it's really not," Josh said.

"Not so much, no," I said, frowning. "How...was he going to disclose it in his run for the presidency?" I asked.

Josh nodded. "Not in the primaries, unless he was directly asked, but he did intend to do so shortly after the convention."

"But since he didn't get nominated..." I trailed off, nodding.

"Well, yeah. I mean, Leo knew about it, I knew about it, and I think he assumed we'd told the President, and everyone else, too. He and I never discussed it after I left his campaign, and I'm sure he felt it was up to Leo to come to him when it was time to be publicly disclosed," he said.

"Did you tell the President?" I asked, softly. The layers of intrigue here were astounding me.

"I didn't, no. I knew Leo knew about it, and left it up to him," he replied.

"There was an awful lot of assuming going on," I sighed. Josh nodded. "Ok." I said.

"Ok?" Josh asked.

"Yeah. I'll...take care of it, I guess," I said, frowning again.

"CJ..."

"I know. You wouldn't have let me get the question. I really do understand how this works, Josh," I said, slightly irritably.

"That's not what I was going to say. I was going to ask what you were going to do about it," he said.

"I don't know. Talk to Leo, I suppose," I sighed. "Anyway. I'm gonna think about it."

"Ok," Josh nodded. "So, what are you gonna do today?"

"Unpack some more. I'm tired of the boxes," I said, glancing around my still messy living room.

"Want some help?" he asked.

"You don't have to go in?" I asked. He shook his head.

"Then sure," I said, getting up to clear the table.

"Let me go down and take a shower. I'll be back in about 20 minutes, ok?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure. It's not like I'm going anywhere," I said, smiling a bit.

"K. I'll be back," he said, letting himself out the front door as I sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

'Cause that day in my life...   
That day in my life...   
I dreamt tomorrow had a prettier face   
I dreamt tomorrow would have better things to say   
'Cause that day never should have taken place   
'Cause this day in my life still cannot explain   
Why I listened in the first place to you

"That Day", Poe

* * *

I nervously smoothed my gray woolen skirt over my knees as I waited for Monique Damien to arrive. She'd called me last night and warned me not to wear a suit. Wear a dress, a skirt, but not a suit. And not to wear pants, which I'd rued when I walked out of my apartment building and felt the wind on my almost bare legs. Thank God that the heat worked in the courthouse, because I was still freezing.

"CJ, you ready for this?" Monique asked, sitting down in the chair next to mine.

"Yes," I said through gritted teeth.

"Ok, hon, you're going to have to relax. We won't be able to hear you if you talk like that," she said gently. I forced my jaw to unclench. "And another thing, don't be the calm sassy woman I saw everyday on CNN. This isn't a press briefing. It's not even a grand jury investigation. It's ok to get a little upset or be nervous in there. You're doing a difficult thing, and it'll be better if you're not stone faced. That bastard hurt you, and you need to let the jury know that."

"Right." I said, nodding. I'd told Josh I didn't feel anything and I was surprised to find it was still true. I felt utterly numb about Adam Cardington. I was more nervous about messing up somehow than about telling 15 total strangers about the biggest mistake of my life.

"Ok, then. When you're up there, take your time. You're allowed to take a deep breath, or a sip of water before answering a question, either mine or the defense attorney's." I nodded. "All right. One last thing. If you feel like you're going to completely melt down, or throw up or something, take a sip of water, but put the glass down by your left hand. Understand?"

"Left hand," I nodded.

"I can't guarantee I'll be able to get a recess, but I'll try, ok?" I nodded again. "Ok. We'll be calling you in about five minutes." She stood up and squeezed my shoulder. "Ready?"

"Ready," I said, taking a deep breath.

"You'll be fine," she said as she left.

I bit my lip and began to pace around the hallway. Sitting still would be a challenge. I had wanted to go for a run so badly this morning, but thanks to Adam, I wasn't allowed to run unsupervised. And supervision is such a hassle that it's simpler to not run.

"Ms. Cregg, we're ready for you now," A bailiff said. I nodded and followed him down the hallway to the courtroom. The courtroom was small and largely empty. My eyes skipped over the jury along one wall, Monique and her assistant, the defense attorney's table. I very carefully didn't look over there as I walked down the aisle to the witness stand. I couldn't help taking a look around the room, though, as the bailiff swore me in. My eyes locked with Adam Cardington. I don't think I could have possibly hidden the way my breath caught in my throat and my eyes widened. I wanted to stand up, tell everyone I was sorry, but I couldn't do this. Couldn't tell them all that happened with his eyes on me. Monique quickly stood up and walked toward me, catching my attention with the movement. I forced myself to focus on her face, even though I could feel Adam staring at me. This was one of our strategies- if he stares, focus on Monique, focus on her face, on what she was saying to me. I took an unsteady breath and answered Monique's questions about my address and my job, and how they'd changed since August. They were easy questions, orientation questions to let me get my bearings and find the rhythm of question and answer. I answered a couple more, and then she started in on the real questions.

"Ms. Cregg, do you know the defendant, Adam Cardington?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yes."

"In what capacity?"

I took a slow deep breath. I had the answers to all these questions memorized, but it wasn't any easier to say the words. "I was involved in a relationship with him this past summer."

"A romantic relationship?"

"At first, yes," I answered softly.

"When did you meet the defendant?"

"June 4th, 2001." Ainsley's birth date was now etched firmly into my mind. At least I've ensured that I'll never forget that friend's birthday.

"How did you meet him?"

I managed not to roll my eyes at the silliness of our first meeting. Even now, I still think it's silly, despite the fact I know he had been stalking me for weeks at that point. "I was at an Italian restaurant celebrating a friend's birthday. I was attempting to walk across the bar to the hostess stand to ask how much longer before my party was seated. He bumped into me and spilled white wine on my dress. We exchanged names and numbers because he offered to pay for the cleaning."

"Did you call him?"

"Yes. I wanted to let him know about the cleaning. I also thought he was attractive and he...seemed nice. I asked him out for coffee," I admitted.

"Then what happened?"

"We went out for coffee, and he invited me to dinner. I told him I didn't know how much time I could devote to a relationship because I was very busy with things going on at work, but it didn't seem to bother him." I understand why, now.

"Did you pursue a relationship, then?"

"I wasn't sure, and I told him so, but he said we should try it, so I agreed," I said.

"How was the relationship at first?"

"It seemed fine. We went out to dinner, and I didn't think much of it when he invited me out again. We only saw each other sporadically, and after a couple of dates, I had a feeling it wouldn't go anywhere, so I didn't have any expectations."

"Did any of your friends know you were in this relationship?"

"Not exactly. They knew I had gone out with him once or twice, but I gave them the impression that I had stopped seeing him."

"Why did you give them that impression?"

"At first it was because I didn't think I would actually be seeing him anymore because it had been a couple of weeks since he'd called. Later, though, it was because he threatened me and said I couldn't tell anyone we were...dating." I was hesitant to use that last word, since that wasn't what we were doing at all.

"When did your relationship change?"

"Shortly before the Fourth of July. He called me up and wanted to have dinner. I was free, so I agreed. We went out to dinner and he drove me home because my car was in the shop. I didn't invite him up to my apartment, but he offered to walk me to my door. I told him it wasn't necessary, but he insisted, so I gave in and let him. When we got to my apartment, he...invited himself in for coffee. I didn't want him to come in, and said so, but he ignored me. I asked him to leave, several times, and he finally did. The next day, he called me to ask if he could come see me at home. I told him I didn't want to see him again and that I did not appreciate the fact that he didn't listen to me when I asked him to leave my apartment. He asked if I would let him come over if he promised to leave when I wanted him to go. He said he really just wanted to talk to me and he felt it was important. I finally agreed, but..." I trailed off, biting my lip. "When he came over, he didn't come to talk."

Monique looked at me sympathetically. "CJ, I'm sorry, but I need you to tell us exactly what happened that night."

I took a shaky deep breath. "He came over. I was wearing shorts and a tank top because it was so hot. He came in and we were talking. He asked me a lot of questions about my job. What I did, how much influence I had. I didn't want to answer his questions because I didn't feel he needed to know that. I told him I wasn't comfortable with the topic and he could change it or he could leave." My voice sounded defiant in my head, but I could tell it was fragile and shaky in the courtroom. "He asked if he could use my restroom. I said yes and got up to refill my drink. When I came back into the room, he grabbed my arm and sort of flung me down onto the couch. He pinned my hands over my head and told me to answer his questions. I tried to struggle, to get him off of me, but I couldn't..." I frowned, trying to figure out how to explain. "I know self defense, and I know how to fight someone who outweighs me, but I'm not used to dealing with someone who is taller than me. I couldn't fight him off and he had both of my hands pinned with one of his. His other hand grabbed my chest and he held down one of my legs with his knee. I said I didn't want him to do this, I said no, I said to get off of me. He ignored me and undid my shorts." I heard a woman in the jury suppress a gasp and took another deep breath. "He raped me on the living room couch and told me if I told anyone he would get his hands on one of my friends and make sure she got similar treatment. He recited her home address and told me he would have no problem convincing someone to break into her house and hurt her too," I finished in a rush, hyperventilating slightly.

"What happened next?" Monique asked.

"I didn't tell anyone. I pretended it didn't happen. He got ahold of a key to my apartment- I don't know how, I certainly didn't give him one and no one else who has a key gave it to him, either. He continued to come and ask me questions and he would hit me and molest me if I didn't answer them. He usually forced me to have sex or...do things to him even if I did answer the questions. Finally, he told me that he worked for a left wing group that wanted to sabotage the election. He told me he had friends in high places that would make the grand jury investigation go away if I would give them information about the campaign. He also told me that if I didn't comply, he would have people attack my friends and make it look like I had hired people to do so and attempt to hurt the President's family. He gave me a day to decide and said to prove he could do what he said he could do, he'd fix it so the grand jury wouldn't find any evidence against us. The next day, the grand jury acquitted us, and he came over that night, forced me to have sex and gave me until sunrise to make my decision. I told him I would comply with his demands because I did not want him to hurt my friends and because I thought he would leave me alone if I agreed. He didn't. He continued to attack me. I tried to avoid going home so I wouldn't have to deal with him, but he would call and harass me at work, threatening me if I didn't come home. One day, my friend Josh came into my office when I was on the phone, and he found out a couple days later that Josh knew I was still seeing him. That night, he beat me and threw me down the stairs of my apartment building, breaking my wrist. About a week later, I decided I'd had enough. I wanted to leave Washington and simply disappear. I had collected information about his group, and I left the information on a disk for Josh to find and prepared to leave. I thought if I left and Josh had the evidence, including all the threats Adam made, they'd be safe and be able to do something about it. I had my bags packed and I was ready to go when Adam came into my apartment." I stopped, out of breath.

"Did Cardington try to stop you from leaving?" Monique asked.

I nodded. "I...I don't remember everything that happened. I remember he was drunk. I remember him telling me I wasn't going to leave. I know he grabbed my wrist, and I think he hit my head against the stove. I...can't remember anything after that, but I know more things happened."

"What's the next thing you remember?" Monique asked.

"They sedated me at the hospital. I have a hazy memory of telling Josh I wanted to go home, but I don't know when that was." I think hard, trying to separate the whispery ghosts of memories from when I was basically stoned out of my mind. I'd been able to hear people around me, but I hadn't been able to respond most of the time. And I hadn't been able to see anything at all. "I couldn't see him, I remember that. I remember praying, a lot. The first concrete memory I have is of my friend Toby telling me I'd been sedated for almost a week and that they thought I'd tried to commit suicide before Josh and my friend Leo found me on my kitchen floor. I was in the ICU, I think."

"Had you been suicidal?" Monique raised her eyebrows at me. I'm not certain I'd told her that before, but right now I'm not sure of much.

"No. I'd just wanted to leave DC. But the note I left for Josh made him think I was suicidal," I shook my head. It hadn't been the clearest note I could have left, but I didn't want anyone else to understand it.

"What were your injuries?" The next logical question.

"I had two broken ribs, a moderate concussion, and a broken wrist," I answered. "The entire situation also triggered an anorexic episode, which was the first time I'd been diagnosed as an anorectic."

"And what have the effects of those injuries been?" Monique nodded encouragingly.

I took a sip of water, being careful to place it by my right hand. I wanted out of here, but not quite that badly. "The head injury did lasting damage to my vision, making it worse than it had been. It also damaged one of my tear ducts, so I can't wear contact lenses any more because my eyes get too dried out. My ribs and my wrist healed, but I had to have surgery on my wrist and I now have a pin in it. The effects of the anorexia remain to be seen yet. I have an increased risk of heart problems and osteoporosis, but as of right now, there is no evidence of either." I pause, looking at Monique. I don't want to get into the gynecological aspects of this if I don't have to. She nods slightly and my mouth tightens. "There might be...damage to my reproductive system. It's unclear if that is permanent at this point. I also have restrictions on my physical activities because my anorexia also took the form of exercise addiction."

Monique nodded at me again. "Thank you. No further questions, Your Honor."

I swallowed. Cross examination had been my nightmare the past few days. The defense attorney stood. I felt Adam's eyes boring into me again. I'd been able to ignore it when I was focused on Monique, but I couldn't anymore. "Ms. Cregg, when you became aware of your discomfort towards my client, why didn't you tell someone then?" the attorney asked.

I took a deep breath. "I thought I could handle it myself."

"When it became apparent you couldn't, why didn't you speak up?" he asked.

"I didn't because he threatened my friends," I replied.

"Have you been in other abusive relationships, Ms. Cregg?"

I bit my lip and prepared to answer, when Monique stood up. "Objection. That's not relevant."

"Goes to show frame of mind, Your Honor."

"It doesn't matter what frame of mind she was in. What matters is what your client did," Monique shot back.

"Approach the bench, both of you," the judge sighed. I didn't know if I was meant to not hear what they said, but I could hear anyway.

"Your Honor, if she was abused by other people, she should have known to speak up," the defense attorney said.

"It doesn't matter if she knew to speak up. Of course she knew she should speak up, that's not the point. The point is your client assaulted and raped her," Monique gritted through her teeth. "And threatened to hurt her friends- who she considers family, by the way- if she told. Of course she's not going to tell."

"It's not rape if she submitted," the attorney retorted.

"All right, all right," the judge interrupted. He gave me a speculative look, and I tried to look like I hadn't heard their discussion. "Objection sustained. Keep it to the present counselor," the judge said, motioning them back to their places.

The defense attorney looked angry, but when he asked his next question, his voice was calm. "Ms. Cregg, did you submit to having sex with my client?"

I frowned, but answered, "Under duress."

"Define duress for me, Ms. Cregg. I don't understand what you mean."

"I mean that I submitted because I had no other option. If I did not submit, your client would beat me," I replied slowly.

"You didn't fight back?" the attorney asked.

"I could not physically fight back. Your client had at least fifty pounds and four inches on me at the time," I answered.

He looked at me speculatively. "Did you try?"

"Yes." Until it became clear he'd hit me.

"Were you drinking alcohol the first night you claim my client attacked you?" he asked.

"No," I replied.

"You said you got up to refill your drink. What were you drinking, Ms Cregg?" he replied.

"Water," I replied.

"You're certain of that?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yes."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked again.

"Because I had to be at work at 5 am the next morning and I don't drink on nights when I need to be at work that early," I replied.

The attorney nodded and moved on. "You said you can't remember the last incident. How can you be sure it was my client?"

"Because I remember everything up to the point that I hit my head," I answered.

"Can you trust those memories? You had a head injury," he reminded me.

"I trust my memory," I said shortly.

The attorney raised his eyebrows. "You trust your memory after a head injury and several days of sedation?"

"Yes." I said, stubbornly.

"You are aware that sedation and head injuries can cause false or confuse memories?" he asked.

"I am aware that many people with head injuries have lapses in memory." I replied.

"Do you have any such lapses?" he asked.

I hesitated, but answered, "Yes."

"So how can you be sure you remember what you remember?" he asked.

I blinked. "Because I remember it." I was aware that sounded like a stupid answer. I was also aware that there wasn't a good answer to that question.

"You remember. I see." He locked eyes with me for another moment. "Nothing further, Your Honor."

I blinked. I hadn't expected him to finish so quickly.

"You can step down, Ms. Cregg," the judge said kindly. I did so, glancing at Monique. She shrugged imperceptibly. "We're going to break for lunch now," the judge continued. "Court is adjourned until 1:30 pm. Dismissed."

I followed Monique down the hall to her little room. "You did great, CJ. Honestly."

I nodded. "Is that all?"

"Pretty much. I'm going to rest when we get back to the courtroom. They've already heard from the cops. My guess is the defense figured they weren't going to be able to get much more of a handle on things with you. They couldn't shoot too many holes in the cops' stories and what you said jives pretty well with what they said. There's not much for them to work with. I think they'll probably have to put Cardington on the stand now. I don't know who else they'll get to testify after the cops said they were certain his alibi was false." I nodded. "Do you want to be in the courtroom when he testifies?" she asked gently.

"Do I have to?" I asked.

"No. I think it would be ok if you weren't. The jury already has a good sense of what he did to you and what the effects have been. You were very good with that. They connected to you very well, I could tell. I think it would be understandable if you weren't there. You've already gone through it once today, it would be reasonable to expect hearing his side of the story to be a bit much," she said judiciously.

"Then no," I said. "I don't...want to , but I honestly don't think I could handle it."

"Then you don't have to. Why don't you go home and relax, and I'll call you later and fill you in on what happened?" Monique suggested. "If it goes to the jury today somehow, I'll call you, so if you want to be here for that part you can."

"All right," I said. I gathered my coat and my bag. "Call my cell phone, ok? I probably will go up to the White House."

"That's fine. I'll talk to you later. You really did do a great job today, don't forget that," Monique said, smiling at me. I managed a small smile back and left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

The winter here's cold, and bitter  
it's chilled us to the bone  
we haven't seen the sun for weeks  
too long too far from home   
I feel just like I'm sinking   
and I claw for solid ground   
I'm pulled down by the undertow   
I never thought I could feel so low   
oh darkness I feel like letting go

"Full of Grace," Sarah McLachlan

* * *

[December 11, 2001]

"CJ, come in. How are you?" the Vice President asked me as he ushered me into his office.

"I'm fine sir, and yourself?" I asked, sitting down in the offered chair.

"Not bad, not bad. I hear the trial went well?" he asked as he sat down behind his desk.

"The verdict was this morning, yes. There's still a sentencing hearing, but my understanding is that it's a formality. He's going to be in jail for at least 10 years, I'm told," I reply, nodding.

"Good." The reply sounded heartfelt and I smiled slightly. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Well, sir, I wanted to make sure we were all on the same page as far as the campaign goes. I've been asking everyone if there were any secrets I didn't know about- personal secrets, the kind that would create a problem if they became front page news. I'm not saying any of these secrets would be disclosed, although I can't promise that they'll just stay with me. I want to do the best I can to keep anything you tell me private, but I can't do that unless I have full disclosure. And I think we can all agree that above board is going to be the only way to run this campaign," I finished.

He nodded judiciously. "I agree. I don't have any secrets, CJ."

I swallowed. I had hoped he would just tell me about the card game and I wouldn't have to play the trump card Leo had given me. "Great. You wouldn't mind if I checked your FBI file then? I've gotten permission from everyone else to just peruse files and make sure everything is all copasetic."

"Why would you need to see my FBI file if you believe I'm telling you the truth," Hoynes asked slowly.

"Oh, I believe you're telling me the truth," I lied. "I just need to be completely certain of all the information I have."

His eyes narrowed, angry. My breath caught in the back of my throat, but I managed not to react visibly. "CJ, I don't know what you have heard, but I assure you, any secret I would need to divulge would have been disclosed during my campaign."

"I'm sure, sir. But your campaign didn't continue. I'm just ensuring that everything is covered here. It affects you as much as the rest of us," I said, trying for soothing.

He was silent. "You know it already."

"But you never said it," I replied softly.

"To you? No. Leo knew," he said. "Josh knew."

"And they never told anyone. I'm not even completely sure if Leo knew that Josh knew," I sighed. "The President does not know."

Hoynes blinked at me, looking surprised. "He doesn't?"

"No, sir," I said, shaking my head. "Leo assumed you would tell him, and then it would have been breaking confidentiality."

"You know about the card game," he said flatly.

"Leo told me about his involvement in the game. He did not tell me about anyone else in the game. I came to the conclusion that you were another participant on my own, based on other information." Which was true. I did figure it out on my own, Josh just confirmed my guess.

"Information from Josh," he said in the same flat tone.

"No, sir. I told Josh what I knew and he did not do anything more than confirm a hypothesis. I did not ask him for details." Although he'd given me some, and Hoynes had to realize that. "My information came from my own observations and what Leo told me about his involvement. I had already believed that there was a meeting before Leo told me."

"Are you telling the President?" he asked after a moment.

"I don't think it is my place to inform the President," I replied. "I will answer any direct question he asks me, however, but I will not hint to get the question. Leo also will not tell the President, for the same reason he would not tell me."

"Josh..."

"Won't say anything either," I interrupted.

"I see." He regarded me for a long time. I tried not to squirm under his gaze. Finally, he said, "Well, then I don't think there is anything more we need to discuss."

I didn't agree, but I was aware I was treading on thin ice. Besides, I was tired and wanted to go home. "If you say so, sir."

"I do. Did you drive over? Or can I have one of the drivers drop you somewhere? It's getting dark and starting to sleet," he said casually, as if we had been doing nothing more than chitchatting this whole time.

"Thank you, but I need to go over to the West Wing," I replied.

"Well, then I will see you later," he said, rising. "Janeane has your coat, right?"

I nodded. "Thank you for your time, sir,"

"You're welcome," he replied. His eyes didn't leave my back until I had shut the door. I retrieved my coat and walked down and out of the OEOB. Hoynes had been right. It was beginning to sleet. I jammed my hat on my head and walked across the street to meet Sam, Josh and Toby, who were taking me out to dinner to celebrate the verdict. I didn't feel much like celebrating, though. I just wanted to go home. It was going to be a long night and I didn't know if I could see the end of it, just then.

Staccato rhythm of my shoes on the sidewalk makes my head clearer. I'm free just now, freer than I've been in months. Why did I ever stop this? I can breathe now where I couldn't before. In and out, in and out in short little pants. Getting breathlessly dizzy, lightheaded. Into that world where colors are brighter and hazy, tinged with adrenaline and carbon dioxide. My steps take me away, far away, away from all the pain. I can't feel my hands, can barely feel my feet. I can't see right, and there are bands tightening around my chest. I keep going, cursing my self for being out of shape as the scenery whips by me in a blur. How could anyone expect me to stop doing this? I hit the wall and break through into the sharpness and clarity of pounding pavement and the sweet relief of endorphins. It's better than morphine, better than any painkiller I've ever had. I don't notice the sleet anymore, or the biting cold. I could go forever. I may have to. I don't know if I could stop right now even if I wanted to. And I don't know if I want to. I don't know if I want to keep trying right now. It's so very hard. I'm not paying attention to where I am, who's around me or anything just now. All that matters is the way my feet hit the ground and propel me forward. And I am starting to get scared of what I have done here tonight. Of what I'm jeopardizing. Of what I might be sacrificing. It's hard to know what to do now. How to stop this.

Panicking, I flail onward, not knowing where I'm going or what will stop me. There is suddenly a door in front of me. My hands are resting on it and I fall when it is unexpectedly opened. Hands grab me before I hit the ground and I can't see who they belong to. "Easy, now, kiddo. Easy." They lead me into a warm room and seat me. I look up and see Leo, and begin to cry. "Come on now, none of that. Just take a deep breath, CJ. It's all right."

"I didn't know how to stop," I gasped out. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for. You're here now, and you're safe." He looks at me a moment. "Sit tight, I'll be right back, ok?" I barely notice. "Ok, here we go." He bends down in front of me and says, "Look, CJ, I'm not getting fresh with you here, but you're soaked clear through and your hands are shaking so badly, I don't think you can do this yourself. So I'm going to help you, ok?" I spasm away from his hands as he touches the zipper on my jacket. "Come on, CJ. It's just me. I'm going to take your jacket off for you. You can do the rest, ok? Come on now, just relax." He undoes the zipper and I realize that I had thrown up all over myself without knowing. I start to mumble apologizes, and he replies gently, "It's all right. Not the first time I've done this." He peels me out of my jacket and tosses it onto the tile floor. "Ok, now. Can you get into these?" he asks, handing me a pair of track pants and a sweater. I nod shakily. "Ok, then. I'll be right back." I manage to strip out of my wet clothes and pull on the dry ones before he reemerges from another room with a towel. "Dry your hair off. I'm going to go run these through the washer," he directs me. I do as I'm told, half embarrassed, but half relieved. I'd run to the right place.

"Are you warming up?" I blinked confusedly up at Leo over the cup of hot chocolate he had pressed into my hands after bundling me up in blankets on his couch. "I can turn the heat up if you want," he continued.

"No. It's ok. I'm always cold anyway," I admitted. I'd been cold since July. Not even California had been able to melt the core of ice that resided somewhere behind my solar plexus.

"Yes, but your teeth are chattering, which is not good. You don't need hypothermia or pneumonia," Leo said wryly as he got up from his chair. "I'll turn the heat up."

"I'm not going to get pneumonia, Leo. You don't get pneumonia from running in the rain," I retorted.

"It was sleet, CJ, not rain. And I'm aware of that, but I also bet you're stressed enough that running in sleet won't help you any," he replied. "Drink your hot chocolate, you probably need calories as much as heat."

I made a face, but took a sip. "Thank you," I said, after a moment.

"You're welcome. Now, do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked gently.

"I don't know what happened," I said quietly.

"Ah. Well, what happened today? What could have set you off?" he asked.

I groaned. "Any of it, all of it."

"The verdict?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know. I was there, yeah."

He nodded. "And then there was the meeting with Hoynes."

"You heard about that?" I asked tentatively.

"He called me as soon as you left his office to chew me out, yes," Leo replied. At my chagrined look he added, "Don't worry about it. I set him straight. I can't promise he won't give you any more trouble, but the President will know about it soon."

"I don't have to be there for that conversation, do I?" I asked, horrified.  
  
"God, no. _I_ don't even want to be there for that conversation, although I probably will be," he sighed. "What happened at dinner?"

"Nothing much. Josh complained about me not being hungry, Sam told him to lay off and eat his own meal and Toby just glowered at both of them and grumbled about being nowhere on the speech and wanting to go back to work. It was pretty typical, actually," I said, smiling slightly.

Leo rolled his eyes. "Then what happened?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "Josh took me home and went back to work. I got changed, I tried to sit down and watch tv, couldn't pay attention, wandered around my apartment, but couldn't sit down. I couldn't go into my kitchen. It's not even the same kitchen, I don't know why I couldn't just walk into the kitchen and get a glass of water. All I wanted was a glass of water. There wasn't a glass in the bathroom, or in my bedroom. And I could not get into the kitchen. I'd walk up to the doorway and not be able to step into the room. And I couldn't sit down. I was afraid I was going to break something, throw it or something. So I left, I guess."

Leo nodded. "It's all right, CJ. You're having a hell of a month, and you're doing incredibly well. It's hard, I know."

"I hate winter," I muttered.

"I know," Leo replied. "But you have to pick yourself up and keep going. It becomes spring, you know. And there is going to be another spring here in DC," he replies nodding.

"I know. I'm glad," I said, softly. I hadn't been at all sure that there would be another spring here even a few months ago.

"All right then." Leo looked about to say something else when his phone rang. Sighing, he got up to answer it. I pulled at the sweater sleeves, trying to make them cover my wrists. Leo and I weren't exactly the same size. His clothes were slightly too big, but the sweater wasn't long enough. I looked up as he came back into the room carrying his cordless phone. "It's Josh and he would like to talk to you. I told him I'd ask if it was all right." I bit my lip, but nodded. "All right, here." Leo handed me the phone and I sighed.

"Hi."

"Hi," Josh sounded tentative, as though he wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm fine," I said, in response to the question he wasn't going to ask.

"You're not, but I'm willing to let you pretend to be," he said with a sigh.

"I'll take it." I was too tired to hash it all out with him. I didn't even want to talk to Leo about it, but I was sitting in his living room wearing his clothes. That didn't exactly leave silence as an option.

Josh was silent a moment. I could almost hear him thinking how to phrase his next question. "Would you like me to come and get you?"

"I don't...want to come home just yet." I said, closing my eyes.

"How about a half hour. Then I'll come get you and if you still don't want to go home, we'll go somewhere else," Josh bargained.

"I guess." I didn't really care, honestly.

"All right. Let me talk to Leo, please," Josh said. I wordlessly handed the phone to Leo and watched him retreat to the kitchen to finish whatever conversation Josh and he wanted to have.

"He's going to come get you," Leo said. "You are, of course, welcome to stay as long as you like."

"It's late. I'm sure you have to get up early," I protested dully.

Leo shrugged. "Won't make tomorrow any different from any other day." He looked at me speculatively. "What's happening with your dad's house and all?"

I sighed. "The will says I get to dispose of his entire estate as I please except for two provisions. I guess I'm going to have to go out there and go through everything. There's not a lot of people to give things to, so most of it will wind up going to Goodwill. Or St. Vincent de Paul, more likely."  
  
"When were you planning to do that?" Leo asked. I recognized his tone of voice. It was an attempt to be casual while concealing the fact that he had an idea.

"What is it, Leo," I said wearily.

"Well, I had wanted to give Josh an extra couple of days at Christmas, to head off any sort of problems he might have. I thought maybe you'd like a couple extra days as well. I'm sure we owe you some bereavement time yet. You and Josh can go to California and take care of your dad's things, if you like. It's not a job you want to do alone, believe me," Leo said.

"You want to ship me to California with Josh?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"If you didn't want to take care of your dad's things at Christmas, I understand, but I thought you might like the opportunity to do so before the primary season starts. Because then, it might be a year before you got to it," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but..."I trailed off. "Leo, I'm bringing my dad's car back. I already know that. I don't have any other way of getting it from Barstow to DC other than driving it. Well, no cost effective way, really. It's a five day drive, Leo. I don't think you could spare either of us that long," I explain.

"Sure I can. So long as you two were back by New Years, there would be no problem. I had planned on giving Josh the 20th through the 27th off. I can extend it a couple days, Lord knows he's got enough comp time," Leo said. "And your hours are what you say they are, so you can take as many days off that you want. It's not like you'll be in the Sahara Desert or something. They do have electricity and cellular service in Barstow, correct?" I nodded. "Then there's no reason you can't work from California if you felt like it. Plus, if you're driving, it would be much better if there was someone with you. A five day drive by yourself would not be prudent. And not to criticize your driving skills, which are fine, but Josh is a better winter driver than you are."

"True," I admitted. I hadn't really learned how to drive in the winter until I'd moved to Washington. I hadn't really needed to know until then.

"Besides, you don't have to do everything all in one go. You could just go out there and see what was there and make plans to take care of it later. I know you probably want the car, anyway," he said. Which was also true. I hadn't had a car since the summer when mine broke down and was irreparable. I'd just been too busy to put the money and time together to go get a new one. My dad's car was practically brand new, there was no point to not use it. He would not have wanted it to go to waste, I knew that for certain. I knew I could sell it, probably more easily than drive it across the country, but I liked my dad's car and, well, I just wanted it.

"Isn't Josh going to go home?" I asked.

"Josh doesn't celebrate Christmas, CJ," Leo reminded me.

"No kidding," I said, rolling my eyes. "He could still go home anyway."

"He could, but his mother wouldn't be there. Last I heard, Rachel had a trip to Canada planned with some friends. They wanted to see Niagara Falls in the winter, I hear," he replied.

"How do you know these things?" I muttered.

"Mallory," he said simply. "She talked to her mother, who had heard about the trip from Rachel. Plus, Josh mentioned that he was staying in DC over Christmas because his mother was going on a vacation."

I shook my head. No wonder all these people were such good net-workers, they all had decades of practice just within their families. "Mmm." A knock at the door interrupted any further statement I would have made. Leo smirked and got up to answer the door.

"Hey," Josh said, coming into the room and looking at me.

"Hi," I said, regarding him seriously. "I guess we're going to California."  
  
He looked unsurprised, confirming a guess that this plan had been at least half his idea. "Are we?"

"Warmer there, anyway" I grumbled slightly, drinking the rest of my hot chocolate.

"Good." Leo said. "You guys can leave next week."

"How long are we going for?" Josh asked.

"If we leave the 20th, I'm sure we could be back here by New Years," I sigh. "We're going to have to drive back."

"Your dad's car?" Josh asked. I nodded, not bothering to ask how Josh knew I was going to want to take the car. "Ok, no problem," he said, catching the significant look Leo threw his way. "Sounds good to me. Donna will be jealous, though, you know," he said, smiling slightly.

"It's Barstow. It's hard to be jealous of that," I retorted, unwinding myself from the blankets. I glanced around, but didn't see my shoes. "Where are my shoes? For that matter, where are my clothes?"

"Your clothes are in the dryer. I can go get them for you, if you like. Your shoes are by the door," Leo said.

"Ok." I stood up, wobbled slightly and made my way to the door to put my shoes on. They were wet, and I managed to pull them on and tie them without shuddering too noticeably. Leo took the hint and left to pull my clothes out of his dryer.

Josh looked at me a moment, and held out his coat. "Put this on, that sweater won't be warm enough." He didn't comment about my clothes otherwise and we stood silently until Leo came back.

"They're not dry yet, but I figured you'd rather take them anyway," Leo said, finding a plastic bag to put them in.

"Yeah. I can throw them in the dryer at home," I said.

"Ok then." Leo looked at me seriously. "Call if you need something."

"Yeah," I said, shrugging into Josh's coat.

"See you tomorrow," Josh said, grabbing the bag of clothes. Leo nodded and Josh led me out of the townhouse and out to his car.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

* * *

And it's one more day up in the canyons  
And it's one more night in Hollywood   
If you think you might come to California...I think you should   
  
Drove up to Hillside Manor sometime after two a.m.  
And talked a little while about the year   
I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,  
Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her   
  
And it's been a long December and there's reason to believe  
Maybe this year will be better than the last   
  
"A Long December", Counting Crows

* * *

[December 21, 2002]  
  
"It's warmer than I thought it would be," Josh said as we got out of the rental car. I looked at him quizzically. "Well, you'd hardly need a jacket out here."  
  
"Yeah, desert. It'll be cold tonight," I told him.   
  
"How cold?" he asked.   
  
I shrugged. "Not quite freezing. It might get colder if it rains, but it probably won't," I replied, looking off towards the west. The skies were pretty clear. I walked up the driveway to the porch and unlocked the door as Josh pulled our suitcases out of the car. "Do you want to go return the rental now, or eat something first?" I asked.  
  
"Food. I'm starved," he replied, bumping the suitcases on the floor.   
  
"All right," I said, dragging my suitcase towards my bedroom. "You can sleep in my dad's room, if you like. Or you can sleep in my room and I'll sleep in my dad's room. Whichever."   
  
"I can sleep in your dad's room if you're comfortable with that," he said, nodding.   
  
I shrugged. I didn't care much. Josh nodded and picked up his suitcase. I watched him dump it on the bed and come back out into the hallway. "What do you want to eat?" I asked.   
  
"Whatever you're up for," he said.  
  
"Josh, you can have an opinion, I'm fine," I sighed.   
  
"Burgers and fries?" he asked.   
  
"Yeah, I know a place," I nodded.   
  
"Do you want to return the rental while we're out?" he asked.   
  
"We probably should. I want to get organized after we eat and I probably won't want to stop to take care of it," I replied.  
  
"Ok, why don't we take care of that and then eat," he said.  
  
"Josh, I asked you ten minutes ago if you wanted to do that. You wanted to eat," I sighed.   
  
"Well, I wasn't thinking straight. You're right, it makes more sense," he replied, sounding slightly irritated.   
  
"Fine," I muttered. "You take the rental. Just follow me, it's not complicated."  
  
"Ok," he said, taking the keys from me. I nodded and we left.   
  
We returned the rental car without a hassle. "So, burgers?" I said, as he got into my dad's car- now my car. Jeep Cherokee, actually. My dad was a fan of cars that could haul lots of stuff, but didn't care quite so much about gas mileage.   
  
"Yeah. I'm not really in the mood for anything elaborate," he sighed. I nodded and shifted the car into gear. Josh glanced over at me and said, "Um, CJ?"  
  
"Yeah?" I asked, as I turned out of the parking lot.   
  
"Is this a stick shift?" he asked, sounding a bit hesitant.  
  
I glanced at him and saw his frown. "Yeah," I said, watching him wince. "Why?"   
  
"Well," he started, and stopped. "I can't drive a stick."  
  
"You can't drive a stick," I said, simultaneously.   
  
"Yeah," he said. "I'm sorry, I would have said something if I'd known..."  
  
I shook my head. "It's not a problem. I'll just have to teach you to drive it after we eat."  
  
"CJ, I don't know if that's a great idea. I mean, I don't want to mess up the transmission," he said.  
  
"Strip the transmission, and you won't. It's not that hard, Josh," I told him as I turned into a diner close to my dad's church. "Really, it's not."  
  
Josh looked hesitant, but I wasn't leaving him room for argument. I tossed him the keys as we walked towards the diner. He looked at them as though they were poisoned, but put them in his pocket. "If you're sure."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure," I said. "Two, please," I said to the hostess, ending the conversation.

All right, Josh. This is simple. You already know how to steer and operate a motor vehicle, so that's half the battle. Look here at the gear shaft. That's how you shift it to get into each gear. See?" I asked.  
  
He looked at it nervously. "Yeah."  
  
"Ok, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to push the pedals and shift a minute here, just to show you how, and then you're going to take over," I said. We were at the church, because it had a nice, large, empty parking lot- essential for teaching anyone to drive. "Watch my feet. To change gears, you have to push down both the clutch and the gas pedal. Push the clutch down hard- all the way to the floor. Otherwise, you'll stall. See what I'm doing?" I asked.   
  
"Yeah," he said.  
  
"Good. Now, the hard part for someone who's only driven an automatic is that you use your left foot to drive a stick. Left on the clutch, right for the gas and the brake. Ok, now I'm going to shift it into first. You have to go in order, or else bad things happen, ok? First gear is until you've hit 15, then you shift to second which takes you up to 30 and so on. It's basically every 15 miles per hour," I said, shifting the gears as I talked.   
  
"Got it," he said, nodding.   
  
"Ok, out of the car." He looked at me nervously. "Come on, Josh. You can do this," I said. "It's not like I'm going anywhere." He sighed and got out of the car. I shook my head and crossed over to the passenger side.   
  
"All right," he said, taking a deep breath. "What now?"  
  
"We're going to turn it on. You've got to be in neutral to start- that's the center," I said. "Gears in neutral, clutch on the floor, turn the key," I said, as he did so. The car responded happily. "Great. Now, move into first gear and here we go."   
  
"I'm with you," he said, moving carefully. The engine suddenly made a loud noise and we lurched forward before dying. "Yeah, not so much."  
  
"You just popped the clutch, no big deal," I said. "Try it again. Left foot on the clutch, all the way down, move the gears and let up on the clutch."   
  
He took another deep breath and tried again. This time it caught and we were moving, slowly. "Hey!" he said.  
  
"There you go! See, that wasn't so hard," I said, grinning at him. "Ready to go a little faster?" I asked.   
  
"Sure," he said, shakily.   
  
"All right then. So, we're at 10 mph, and we need to get up to 25. What do you do?" I asked.   
  
"Push the clutch in and shift into second?" he asked.   
  
"Exactly. Push the gas a second here to get closer to 15, then let up and push the clutch all the way in. Now, move the gears, and start to let the clutch up as you start to push on the gas," And pray you don't pop the clutch again, I thought. He didn't, and we were safely in second gear. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it? It's the same for every gear."   
  
"What about stopping?" he asked.   
  
"You down shift," I said. "Hang on, get it up to third. It's easier to see in third, since you don't want to shift into first if you're just stopping at a stop sign, or something." He moved up to third without much trouble and made another circle of the lot to get going a bit more. "Ok, here we go. To downshift, you push the clutch in and hit the brakes at the same time as you're shifting down. That slows the car down," I said. "Let the clutch out slowly as you're doing this. If you're in fourth, you shift to third, then second before stopping. In third, sometimes you just have to hit the brakes and you don't downshift at all. It just takes practice to know when you need to do which, really. Depends on how fast you're going, too. Ok?"   
  
"Yeah," he said, trying it. "This isn't so bad." We came to a slightly less than gentle stop. "Oops."  
  
"It's all right. That happens sometimes," I reassured him. "You're doing fine."  
  
"Really?" he asked.  
  
"Really. All that's left is to try reverse," I said. "Reverse is a bit tricky. Put the clutch in and move into reverse. Then let the clutch out very slowly as you back up. Otherwise, you'll go too fast. You want to control it with the clutch, not the brakes."  
  
"Ok," he said. He got it into reverse, but the car jerked quite a bit. "Um..."  
  
"The clutch, Josh. Push the clutch down a bit. There you go," I said, as we smoothed out a bit. "Think you've got it?" I asked.   
  
"Sure," he said, sounding a lot more confident.   
  
"Then quit backing up and let's drive around the parking lot a bit," I said. I didn't offer any instructions for getting back into gear, but Josh managed to get us back into first without any problems. He drove around a while, getting the hang of maneuvering and starting and stopping. "I don't know what you were so nervous for," I said after about fifteen minutes. "You've only popped the clutch three or four times. That's pretty good for the first time." I glanced out the window. "Hey, stop up here," I said, noticing someone sitting on the front stoop of the rectory.   
  
"Ok," he said, coming to a fairly graceful stop.   
  
I rolled down the window as Fr. Ben walked towards the car. "I thought it might be you, CJ," he said.  
  
"Hi, Fr. Ben. I was going to call you tonight to let you know I was in town," I said, smiling a bit.  
  
"What are you up to?" he asked. "I thought it was one of my parishioners who's teaching her son how to drive until I recognized the car."   
  
I smiled. "Josh didn't know how to drive a stick shift. Since we're driving the car back to DC, I figured he'd better learn in a hurry," I replied.   
  
"I see. Hello, Josh," Fr. Ben said.  
  
"Hi, Father," Josh said. "Um, CJ, how do I park it?"  
  
I laughed. "Put it in neutral and turn it off. Then pull the parking brake and shift it into first gear," I instructed him.   
  
"While it's off?" he asked.  
  
"Yep. It'll roll if it's in gear," I explained.   
  
"Ah," he said, moving the gear shaft. I shook my head and turned back to Fr. Ben.   
  
"How long are you here?" he asked.   
  
"I think we're going to leave Christmas Day. We need to be back by the 31st and I'm not thrilled with the idea of driving 12 hours a day, so it's going to take awhile," I explained. "We'll just have to get as much done as we can before then."   
  
"Taking care of your dad's stuff?" he asked.  
  
I nodded. "Getting started on it, anyway. The way things look, I'm not going to have any time off for a year or so."  
  
"Well, you've got your work cut out for you, I'd say," he said with a smile. "Give me a call if I can be helpful, all right?"   
  
"We will," I said. I looked over at Josh. "Well, think you can handle traffic now?"   
  
"Um," he said.  
  
"Sure you can," Fr. Ben encouraged him. "It's only about a mile or so, and it's not a busy road."  
  
"See?" I said. "I think you can do it."  
  
"Then I guess I'll have to, then," Josh sighed.   
  
"That's the spirit!" Fr. Ben said. "God be with you, CJ," he said, laughing a bit.   
  
I smiled. "I hope so, anyway." Fr. Ben laughed again and waved as he walked back towards the rectory. "Ok, Josh. Let's go home." We lurched back into motion as Josh drove out of the church parking lot for his first encounter with traffic.Two days later, I was sorting clothes on the floor of my dad's bedroom. Josh and I had made quite a bit of progress- I would probably finish the bedroom in the afternoon, and Josh had all but finished the living room downstairs. There had been more stuff than I had expected, even knowing that my father was a pack rat.   
  
I heard a gentle thump and looked up to see Josh dropping a box to the floor in the hallway. "All done?" I asked.  
  
"This is the stuff you need to go through," he said, nodding. "Here, take a look at this." He handed me a binder as he sat down on the floor next to me.   
  
I opened the binder, which turned out to be a photo album. "Huh," I said, softly, turning the pages.   
  
"I thought you'd want to see it," Josh said.   
  
"I've never seen this before," I said, gazing at a black and white photo in wonderment. The caption read "Eileen and Ray". I squinted a bit and could see my father in the features of the small boy sitting on top of a fence next to a young woman. "That must be my grandmother," I said.   
  
"Don't you know?" Josh asked.   
  
"Nope. I think she died before I was born. At any rate, I never knew her," I replied.   
  
"That's right, I knew that," he said, bending over to look at the picture more closely. "It has to be. She looks like you." The woman was thin, with big bright eyes. I couldn't tell what color they were, or the color of her hair, but I was willing to bet that she had blue eyes. My father had.   
  
"Wow," I said, turning the page. There were more pictures of my father and his mother, but none of his father. "I wonder why there aren't any pictures of my grandfather," I said.   
  
"He was the one behind the camera," Josh said, turning the next page, where we found a color photo of a young man and a young woman leaning against a car.   
  
"Oh, wow," I breathed, pulling the book a bit away from Josh to study the photograph.   
  
"Is that your mom?" Josh asked after a moment. The man was very obviously my dad. Tall and rangy looking, with sandy colored hair and blue eyes. The woman was smaller, but very thin, with auburn hair and green eyes.   
  
"She never looked like this," I said softly, running my finger around the edge of the photograph. The woman's eyes danced, and she was grinning as much as the man she was with. My mother had always had stringy peroxide blonde hair, and her eyes had always had a dull look to them, when they didn't flash in anger. But the woman in the photograph was very obviously my mother. I glanced at the caption. "Ray and Sara Jane, 1953." "She was probably pregnant with my brother already," I said, quietly.   
  
"Yeah? Maybe there's photos of them in here," Josh said, trying to jar me out of my reverie.   
  
"Maybe, I don't know. I thought I had the only two," I said, turning the page. On the next page was a photograph of my grandmother holding a baby. "Ah," I said. The caption read "Eileen and Mark, aged 2 months". There were a couple more pictures of Mark at various ages, then a photo of Mark holding a baby on his lap. "That must be Steven," I said.   
  
"You sure? Maybe it's you," Josh said. This was one of the few photographs to not have a caption.  
  
"Nope. Mark's not old enough. He was 12 when I was born," I said. "No, here, look, it's Steven," I said, turning the page to find a picture of my father holding the baby with a caption that read "Ray and Steven Raymond, aged 1 week"   
  
There were fewer pictures of Steven on the next pages. "That's typical," Josh said with a little laugh. I looked at him quizzically. "I assure you, every younger sibling gets fewer photographs than the older ones. There are about half as many photographs of me than there are of Joanie."  
  
"Then there's probably next to none of me," I said, turning a page.   
  
"One, anyway," Josh said, pointing to a picture of a baby pulling herself up next to a chair. "That's got to be you," he said.   
  
"Claudia Jean, aged 7 months," I read, slowly. The baby had wide light blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair. She wasn't chubby like the babies in the other pictures, and looked slightly startled to be captured on film. Her fist was in her mouth and she was wearing a dirty tshirt and a diaper.   
  
"You were adorable," Josh declared with a grin.   
  
"I was filthy," I muttered.   
  
"Well, you look cleaner in this one," Josh said, pointing to another picture on the page. I was obviously older, maybe about 18 months old, although the caption didn't give an age, and I was wearing a sundress with a baseball cap hiding half my face, standing on a front porch I didn't recognize.   
  
"Mmm," I said, turning the page. There were no more pictures. "I wonder if there's more somewhere else," I mused.   
  
"I didn't find any," Josh said apologetically.   
  
"Then there probably aren't more," I said. "This was my dad's, obviously."  
  
"Huh?" Josh asked.  
  
"He left, probably not long after that last picture," I explained. "There wouldn't have been any more pictures for him to put in the album." I closed it with more force than necessary. "Can you put it in one of the boxes that's going home for me, please?"   
  
"Yeah, sure," he said, but didn't move. "CJ?" he asked after a moment.  
  
"What?" I asked, turning back to the piles of clothes I was sorting.   
  
"Why did he leave?" It wasn't the question I'd been expecting, and I stopped to look at him.  
  
"What do you mean?" I asked.  
  
"Why did your dad leave? You've never really said, exactly," Josh said.  
  
"He..." I trailed off, unsure of how to put it. "He left because he divorced my mom."  
  
"Yeah, but why?" Josh asked.   
  
"Why did he divorce my mom?" I asked. He nodded, and I shrugged. "Probably because she was sleeping around."   
  
"Why did she do that?" Josh asked.   
  
I looked at him, baffled. "How should I know?"   
  
"Why did she keep custody of you if she was the cause of the divorce?" he asked.  
  
"Because it was 1969 and they didn't give fathers custody of their kids back then," I said, shrugging.  
  
"Even if the mother was unfit?" Josh asked.   
  
"He couldn't prove it," I said.   
  
"How old were your brothers?" he asked.   
  
I thought a moment. "Mark would have been 15. Steven was 11, then, I guess."  
  
"That's old enough to testify," Josh said.   
  
"They didn't let them," I replied. "I know that for a fact."   
  
"They usually ask the older kids which parent they'd rather live with, though," he said.   
  
"Nope. Not in this case anyway, I don't know if it was like that for all cases, but I know no one asked Mark or Steven. I would have been too young, anyway," I said.   
  
"You were how old?" Josh asked.   
  
"Three when the divorce was finalized. Just under 2, I think, when my dad left," I replied.   
  
"That's odd, though. Why did your mom keep you guys?" Josh said.   
  
I blinked. "What else was she going to do with us?" I asked. "It's not like there was anyone else to give us to, other than our dad. We were the only bargaining chip she had."   
  
"Yeah, but why did she need bargaining chips?" he asked.   
  
I had absolutely no idea where he was going with this, but I wasn't sure I wanted to follow him down whatever path his mind was sending him. "She needed bargaining chips because she didn't have anything, Josh. She literally had nothing but us," I sighed. "You have to understand, she didn't finish high school, college would have been so far beyond her grasp even if she did have a diploma. She wasn't going anywhere. And then she committed the ultimate sins in a small town. What else was she going to do if her husband left her?"  
  
"CJ..." he trailed off, and I recognized his expression as the one he had when trying to phrase something uncomfortable. "Why do you...defend her?"  
  
"She's my mother," I said simply.   
  
"Yeah, but," he started, but I cut him off.  
  
"Let it go, Josh, please?" I asked.   
  
"Yeah, ok," he said softly.   
  
"I understand what you mean. But I...can't explain it to you. Not now, anyway. Maybe sometime, but right now, I can't handle explaining my family."  
  
"That's understandable," he said.   
  
"All right then." I glanced around the room. "Give me a half hour, and I'll be ready to load the car and make a trip to the Goodwill, ok?"  
  
"Sure," he said, getting up to leave.   
  
"Hey, Josh?" I asked.   
  
"Yeah?" he replied, turning around.  
  
"I know why you say what you say," I said. He shrugged. "Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome, CJ," he said, smiling a bit at me before turning to leave the room.My cell phone rang, and I answered it automatically. "CJ Cregg."  
  
"Hey, it's me," Sam's voice sounded stressed and tired, which did not completely surprise me.   
  
"Hi. Merry Christmas," I said, smiling a bit.   
  
"You too. Where are you?" he asked. He knew we were leaving California today.  
  
"The grocery store parking lot. Josh wanted to buy supplies before we left," I sighed.   
  
"He's being a nervous Nellie?" Sam asked. I could hear the smile in his voice and I smiled back.  
  
"Of course. I'd forgotten about how much a pain he could be when traveling."  
  
"Did you decide which way you're going?" Sam asked. Josh had called him the other night in the middle of our argument over which route we were going to take back to DC.  
  
"We compromised, sort of. We're going to take I-40 until we reach Oklahoma City, then we'll go north to I-70. It might even be shorter. And we'll avoid the mountains." Josh had wanted to take 15 to Salt Lake and catch 70 up there. I did not want to drive through the Rocky Mountains in December. I'd wanted to take I-40 all the way to North Carolina, but Josh hadn't wanted to drive through the desert. He had some strange notion that we'd get stuck and die of heat exhaustion. I told him it was unlikely in the middle of December, but he disagreed. It was about then that he'd called Sam.  
  
"I think that's the best plan, really. You've got a map?" Sam asked.  
  
"We have two, plus I think Josh is buying one of those giant road atlases. Along with a couple crates of water and other assorted things he doesn't think we'll be able to get along the way." I sighed. "Oh well, how are you doing?"   
  
"Mmm," Sam said. "I don't know, honestly."  
  
"What happened?" I asked. Sam tells me things about his family that he doesn't tell anyone else, except perhaps Ainsley. He certainly doesn't tell Josh, partially because he doesn't want Josh to feel bad, but mostly because he doesn't think Josh will understand. I can sympathize. I don't think Josh could understand my family either. Sam, however, knows I understand.   
  
"Well, he showed up this morning, to open presents. Which upset my older brother, who, in turn, upset my sister, which upset my mother. I think it would have been better if he'd come after dinner, like he'd originally planned. He wanted to be there when the kids opened presents, though," Sam sighed. "The kids were kind of confused, though. They're mostly old enough to understand that Grandpa isn't living with Grandma right now, even if they haven't exactly been told what's going on."  
  
"They don't know?" I asked, somewhat surprised.  
  
"No. I know, Matt, Emily and James know," Sam replied, listing his brothers and sister. "Emily's husband Rob and Matt's wife Jackie know, but their kids don't. My aunt knows, but I'm not sure about my grandmother. It's almost as bad as figuring out who knows what at work," he grumbled.   
  
"So, Matt and Emily got upset. What about James?" Sam's younger brother was only 17 and a senior in high school. Of all his siblings, I knew Sam worried the most about the effects this was having on him.   
  
"James and I pretended everything was fine. We figured it would make things easier for everyone. So we took care of the kids and tried to have a good time," Sam said.   
  
"Good," I said, leaning the seat back so I could rest my feet up on the dashboard. "I'm proud of you."  
  
"Yeah, don't get too proud. I'm currently sitting on the stairs to the attic, hoping no one finds me," he sighed.   
  
"I don't blame you, I'd probably be hiding too," I said.   
  
We were quiet a moment. I just listened to Sam breathe, trying to gauge just how far away he was from completely losing his temper with his family. "I so did not want to come home," he muttered.   
  
"I know," I said, soothingly.  
  
"I should have gone with Ainsley. Or gotten her to come with me."   
  
"No, you shouldn't have. You had to go home, because you had to show them you hadn't abandoned them. And you couldn't have asked Ainsley to go with you because it wouldn't have been fair to drag her into the whole family drama of the first Christmas your parents were separated," I said, repeating the argument I'd made two weeks ago when Sam first suggested not going home.   
  
"Oh, and get this. Last night, Mom tells me she's not sure she wants to divorce him," Sam said bitterly.   
  
"That's a big step, Sam," I said quietly.  
  
"Yeah, but the man had an affair for 28 years, CJ. He was having the affair when both Emily and James were born. He'd been having an affair since I was 7 and my brother was 11. And she wants him to come home!" Sam was a breath away from shouting, but his voice suddenly dropped into a fierce whisper. "I can barely look at him. I haven't even spoken to him."  
  
"Sam..." I trailed off, unsure as to what to say.   
  
"This is so much harder than telephones and email. I didn't expect it to be so hard to see him in person." Sam sighed.   
  
"Yeah," I said.   
  
"What on earth is my mother thinking?" he said, sounding slightly disgusted.   
  
"Sam, she's still got another kid to put through college. And Emily's only been out of school a year. I imagine she doesn't want to tie up resources that she might want to use to help Emily and Rob and take care of James," I said. "Not to mention the fact that this is a big year for James. Maybe she doesn't want to disrupt that more than it has been already."   
  
"Matt said she shouldn't let him come home unless he gets rid of the other woman," Sam sighed. "I somehow don't see that happening, quite honestly."   
  
"No, probably not," I agreed.   
  
"I am too old to have divorced parents," he said.  
  
"Nah," I said.   
  
"I shouldn't be dumping all this on you," he said suddenly. "I mean, you're in the middle of..." he trailed off. "Anyway. I'm sorry."  
  
"It's fine, Sam, really. I'd rather you dump on me than take it out on the 10 million people in your house at the moment," I said. "Speaking of which, they're probably starting to wonder where you are."   
  
"Probably," he replied. "Josh back yet?"   
  
I craned my neck to look out the window. "I don't see him...no, wait, he's headed this way."   
  
"All right. You drive safely. Call me and let me know where you wind up tonight, ok?" he said.  
  
"I will. You going to be all right?" I asked.   
  
"Yeah, I guess," he sighed.  
  
"You guess?" I asked. "That doesn't sound terribly confident."  
  
"I'm better now than I was when I called, how's that?" he asked.  
  
"Better," I said. "Take care. Call me if you want, I think I'll be available," I joked.   
  
"All righty. Tell Josh Merry Christmas and I'll talk to him later," Sam said.   
  
"Will do. Talk to you soon," I said.  
  
"Yeah, bye," Sam said, hanging up. I sighed as Josh opened the rear driver side door.   
  
"Everything ok?" he asked, as he wedged shopping bags into the only empty spaces behind us.   
  
"Yeah. Sam called, he says Merry Christmas and he'll talk to you later," I said.   
  
"How's he doing?" Josh asked, seriously.  
  
"He's surviving," I shrugged. Anything more would have to come from Sam.   
  
"He does that," Josh said, climbing into the driver's seat. "You sure you want me to drive?"   
  
"Oh, I'm sure. You're fine." Josh had gotten much better at driving over the past couple of days, but I wanted him to start the trip, since he'd been driving the highways around here. Better to start with the familiar.  
  
"All right, then, we're off," he said, starting the car. I nodded and looked out the window as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the highway. Sam wasn't the only one who would be glad to get home. 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

* * *

I've heard your anguish  
I've heard your hearts cry out  
We are tired, we are weary, but we aren't worn out  
set down your chains, until only faith remains  
Set down your chains   
  
And lend your voices only to sounds of freedom  
No longer lend your strength to that  
which you wish to be free from  
Fill you lives with love and bravery  
And we shall lead a life uncommon  
  
"Life Uncommon", Jewel

* * *

[December 31, 2001]  
  
I groaned at the knock at my door. I had only been in town for 12 hours after spending 5 days on the road with Josh. Josh and I generally get along wonderfully, but neither of us are very good travelers, and after five days of having someone constantly with me, I wanted space. I wanted privacy. I did not want to answer my door.   
  
"CJ, I know you're in there." It was Sam's voice. I sighed and swung my legs off the couch.   
  
"How did you know I was here," I said, answering the door.   
  
"Because Josh told me. He's coming up, by the way," Sam said, smiling slightly. "Yes, I know, you two spent the last five days together, you don't need, want or desire to see each other for at least a week."   
  
"Mmm," I said, moving out of the way so Sam could squeeze past me into my apartment. "What's all this?" I asked, surveying the bags he placed on my kitchen counter.   
  
"You'll see," he replied mysteriously.   
  
"See what?" I muttered as Josh knocked on the door before I could close it. "It's already open," I told him.   
  
"I was being polite," he countered, placing a bag of his own on the counter.   
  
"Seriously, guys? I'm tired." I complained. "I'm really not in the mood for people."  
  
"We know," they said simultaneously.   
  
"No more people, just the three of us," Sam promised.   
  
I sighed. "All right. What's going on?" I asked again.  
  
"Just go sit in the living room," Sam directed. "We'll be there in a moment."   
  
"Sure, I'll let you boss me around in my own home. Why not?" I said, stomping off towards the living room. I was aware that I was behaving as though I was five, but I was also aware that I didn't care. I wanted to be left alone.   
  
"Close your eyes," Sam demanded, poking his head out of the kitchen.   
  
I made a face at him, but complied. I heard rustling and Josh say something to Sam, but I couldn't make out his words. "Guys? What are you doing?" I asked.   
  
"Give us a second, will you?" Josh said, in one of his less patient voices.   
  
"Well, I just want to make sure you're not about to burn my apartment down or something," I grumbled.   
  
"You sound like Toby," Sam observed. "We're just about ready," he added before I could protest.   
  
I was about to say something else when Sam said triumphantly, "There! Open your eyes!"   
  
I opened them with some trepidation. This was Sam and Josh we were talking about here. But I was relieved to see my apartment was still standing. And I was amazed to see a pile of gift wrapped boxes and a big plate of cookies sitting on my coffee table. "What's this?" I asked.   
  
"Christmas," Sam said, happily. "You didn't celebrate. You're practically the only one of my friends who does, so I couldn't let that happen. Besides, didn't I promise to make a big deal out of your Christmas?"   
  
I'd almost completely forgotten Sam's offhanded promise to make up for forgetting my birthday. "Yeah, but..."   
  
"But nothing," Josh interrupted. "Come on, don't tell me you're not curious about what's inside the packages?"  
  
"I don't have any gifts for you," I protested. "I just..."  
  
"It's ok," Sam said. "Really. We understand."   
  
"Besides," Josh said softly. "You already gave us our gifts." When I looked at him quizzically, he continued. "You came back." Our eyes met, and I knew he was remembering last Christmas when he apologized for not getting me a gift and I told him he'd already given me his gift by not giving in.   
  
"Ok," I said softly. "Wow."  
  
"Feeling less crabby now?" Sam asked. "Or do you need some cookies first?" He didn't wait for a reply, but dished up some of the cookies onto another plate and handed it to me.   
  
"Where'd you get the cookies?" I asked.  
  
"Oh, my mom sent me back with about 3 dozen," he explained, biting into a chocolate cookie.   
  
I nodded, and nibbled at a butter cookie. "This is really unexpected."  
  
"Of course it is. Here," Josh said, handing me a present. "Start opening."   
  
So I did. I ate cookies and opened presents to find a couple books from Toby and a scarf from Donna, who were both still out of town. Sam had gotten me three CDs he knew I'd been wanting, and there was even a card from Leo that said "Staff your office. It's too quiet there. Merry Christmas", along with a gift certificate to a small art gallery I liked. There was a small box from the President and Abbey with some homemade jam and New Hampshire maple syrup. And then a big box from Josh that turned out to be a new parka. "Figured you might want this, if you're going to be campaigning in Minnesota again," he said, smiling a bit.   
  
"It's great," I said. "Thanks, you guys, really." I felt a little shaky inside, with the evidence that these people knew me well enough to give me such perfect presents. But the knowledge didn't make me want to flee. Instead, I found it wasn't terribly difficult to brush away the reflexive panic.   
  
"You're welcome," Sam said, smiling brightly, jerking me out of my momentary reverie.   
  
"Oh, but it's not over just yet," Josh said, smiling. He reached behind him and picked up a small plastic bag. "Movie time."   
  
"Right!" Sam said. "And later we'll watch the ball drop and ring in the New Year!"   
  
"Mmm, we'll need food for all that," I said, leaning over to capture the phone. "Pizza or Chinese?"   
  
"Hell, get both," Josh said. "There's lots of movies here."   
  
I grinned and dialed the phone, secure in the fact that I knew just what to order. And the world outside whirled past the window, but I didn't care. I was here, with people who cared, snugly tucked up on my couch as Sam cleared away wrapping paper and Josh put the first movie in. 2002 was coming and my year of tribulation was at its end. The next year couldn't help but be better, I thought as Josh picked up my feet and dumped them on his lap and Sam flopped down in the armchair to start the afternoon to lead to our new year.

End


End file.
